


Going Forward

by softiejace



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Dan Howell Has A Dog, Dating, Demiromantic Character, Demisexual Character, Demisexuality, Depression, Exes to Lovers, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Mentally Ill Character, Past Relationship(s), Post-Break Up, References to Depression, Teacher AU, kath makes an appearance of sorts, mental health, no explicit smut but i'll make it skippable either way, pj and louise are only mentioned, rated mature for mental illness theme and mild sexual content, the sexualities aren't labeled but implied so you can read them as such if you wish!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-18 11:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17579840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softiejace/pseuds/softiejace
Summary: When Phil Lester signs his students up for a mental health workshop, no scenario he's prepared for includes running into his ex..."I'll give you my heart to make a place for it to happen,evidence of a love that transcends hunger."-	 'Snow and Dirty Rain' by Richard SikenThe fic title and chapter titles are quotes taken from this poem.





	1. We can do anything. It's not because our hearts are large, they're not, it's what we struggle with.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this since last October. It's the longest work I've ever finished so I'm super excited to release it into the world.
> 
> Big, big shout-out to my pal @cornerstones who read all of this first! I would've never gotten this far without your constant encouragement.
> 
> Content warning: If you missed it in the tags, this work contains discussion of mental health, specifically depression.
> 
> If you have any criticism or feedback, don't hesitate to comment or talk to me on twitter @/iovesongdjh.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil signs his students up for a mental health workshop and meets an old acquaintance.

It’s an early October morning. Golden and red leaves scattered on the ground crunch under Phil’s shoes when he makes his way across the parking lot. A few students milling about the entrance glance up and wave at him as he passes, and he nods at them, forcing a half smile.

It’s Friday and he’s just about ready for the weekend. His year tenners have really been testing his patience this week.

His mind set on the second cup of coffee he’s hoping to have before class, Phil pushes open the door to the staff room, sighing in relief when he dumps his bag at the desk opposite a woman with short red hair.

His colleague looks up from the papers she’s been marking. “Ah. Morning, Lester.”

Phil gives her a slightly less strained smile as he takes a seat. “Morning, Esther.”

It’s a bit they came up with when he first started working at St. Dymphna* Academy about three years ago, and after the week he’s had he’s thankful for the routine.

“You look like you could use a cuppa.”

“I’ve been hoping for some caffeine, actually. D’you know if someone’s already made a pot?”

Esther pulls a face. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but I think Frank broke the machine this morning.”

Phil lets out a groan, head sinking into his hands.

After a moment, a sheet of paper slides into his eyesight. He blinks through the gap between his fingers.

“International Mental Health Day - Workshop Registration.”

“Oh!” He drops his hands to pick up the paper, skimming the explanatory lines above the registration list that already bears quite a few of his colleagues' names.

“In honor of this year’s Mental Health Day, an ambassador of Young Minds UK will be speaking at next week’s assembly. If you wish additional support educating your tutor group (years 8-11) about mental health issues, sign up below for a two hour workshop. Students will be excused from any classes they might miss.”

Esther chuckles. “Thought that might cheer you up.”

Phil selects a pen from his pencil case. “Let’s hope it’ll cheer up my students as well.”

 

* * *

 

 

Wednesday morning arrives quick and crisp. Rain drizzles down on Phil’s ducked head as he strides briskly towards the building, pumpkin spice latte in hand because the coffee machine is still not working reliably. He has about five minutes to make it to assembly so there’s no time to drop off his bag or fix his surely drooping quiff in the bathroom.

Luckily, he manages to usher his tutor group into the assembly hall without major incidents and goes to stand at the side while they take their seats, mucking about as usual. There’s quite a bit of nervous energy in the air, bouts of giggles and loud chatter flaring up here and there, ceasing quite abruptly when the head teacher gets up on stage.

“Good morning, students.”

She waits out the murmured response before continuing, “As you’ll hopefully all remember, we’ve got a guest with us this week. In honour of International Mental Health Day, the charity organisation Young Minds UK have kindly sent us one of their ambassadors. Some of you have already met him in workshops.”

A little ruckus breaks out in the back and the head teacher pauses while the responsible tutor hurries to silence it.

Phil’s heard in passing about the ambassador from some of his colleagues whose tutor groups he’s already visited, but this will be the first time he sees him, as their workshop is set later in the day. He takes another sip of his latte as the head teacher gestures to the side of the stage.

“So without further ado, please give a warm welcome to mental health ambassador Daniel Howell.”

Hot liquid sloshes over Phil’s hand as he jumps slightly.

If the name has startled him, his reaction to seeing the man walk on stage is even harder to conceal.

He’s tall and dressed in all black – black skinny jeans, black jumper with a white grid pattern, black shoes - and even from across the assembly hall, Phil can see dark curly hair, long legs, and broad shoulders.

He chokes on his mouthful of coffee, eyes watering with the effort to suppress a violent cough.

It _is_ Dan Howell.

And this is definitely not the first time he’s ever seen him.

Just the first time in over six years.

And then there’s his voice.

“Hello everyone. Thanks for having me. So, as you’ve heard, I’m Daniel Howell and I’m here as an ambassador of Young Minds UK...”

His all too familiar voice.

It’s near impossible to tune out and yet Phil can’t recount more than a few words Dan says after this, only registering vaguely that he’s talking about Mental Health Day and the work his charity does.

More specific things are drowned out by the rushing in Phil’s ears that comes with the quickening pace of his heart.

 _Deep breaths_ , Phil reminds himself sternly. _Deep, slow breaths. You will not have a mental slash emotional breakdown in the middle of assembly in front of more than a hundred students because the man who broke your heart is up there on the stage._

Oh god. He’s got a workshop scheduled with him later that day. He’s going to be in a much more confined room with him for two whole hours. They’re going to be face to face.

Okay, now he’s definitely starting to panic.

Someone hands him a napkin. In his peripheral vision, a red-headed figure has appeared.

Phil mutters a word of thanks as he dabs his sticky hand quite futilely with the paper napkin.

“You okay there?” Her voice is hushed; the speech is still ongoing.

“Y-Yeah,” he clears his throat, blinking a few times before he dares look up at Esther. “I’m fine.”

She eyes him with concern. “You’ve gone quite pale. Even more than usual. Sure you’re not getting ill?”

Someone, somewhere close by, shushes them. Phil’s thankful for it because he has no idea how to respond.

In fact, part of his brain is already entertaining the idea of calling in sick and fleeing to the comfort of his home. Except – he can’t do that. His students need this workshop. What kind of precedent is he setting for them if he bails because, what, he can’t handle being in the same room as an ex for two hours?

He’s being ridiculous.

But he’s still momentarily relieved when the assembly ends and the students and teachers are dismissed.

 

 

* * *

 

Phil’s having the students read out a scene of the play they’re currently covering.

“Will you stay no longer? Nor will you not that I go with you?”

“By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me; the ma- what? – the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad rec- recompense for your love to lay any of them on you—”

The boy who has been reading is cut off by a knock. All students look up, eyes flitting from their books to the door and then to Phil.

Oh, god. Here it goes.

Phil clears his throat. “Thank you, Joe, we’ll stop there for now. – Come in.”

The door opens.

Dan sticks his head through.

“Hi, I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

The students – eager for a disruption of their work – start giggling and whispering, some are even bold enough to respond, quite cheekily, “certainly not.”

Dan grins. And then he turns his head to the front.

There is an oddly cinematic moment when their eyes meet.

Time and Dan’s expression seem to freeze for a good moment. Phil’s heart stops beating. Or maybe it’s beating too fast to be noticeable.

His mouth is dry. It takes effort to separate his tongue from his gums, to crack his mouth open and force his vocal chords to form words that he hopes sound somewhat casual.

Time resumes.

“It’s no trouble,” he lies. “You’re right on time, I believe. Please, come in.”

Dan enters, closing the door behind himself. His face is doing a complicated thing, like he’s trying to smile but can’t quite remember how.

Phil can’t blame him. At least he was somewhat prepared for this situation. Dan had no warning at all.

Phil’s overcome by a desperate urge to know what he's thinking.

Finally, Dan speaks. “Thank you... Sir.”

Phil doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He should probably offer one to Dan, but he can’t bring himself to do that.

Luckily, Dan doesn’t seem to be expecting it; he’s got both his own hands shoved into his pockets.

“So,” he says, swaying somewhat awkwardly on the spot. “Shall I go right ahead?”

“Oh.” Phil steps aside, moving to lean against the windowsill and gesturing for Dan to take a seat at his desk. “Yes, make yourself at home.”

He glances at his students then for the first time to check if they’ve noticed anything, but it’s hard to tell. They’re busy putting away their books, excited already by the prospect of not having to discuss Shakespeare for the next two hours.

“Cool, okay. So I’ve brought you guys some worksheets for later but first I thought I could tell you a little more about why I’m here and like, my personal struggles with mental health. And if you have any questions, just – interrupt me at any point or ask later, however you want. Right. Let’s get started...”

 

* * *

 

“Any other questions before you’re going to lunch? Remember you’ve got my Young Minds email if you want to reach out about anything private.”

Maybe it’s the fact that everything’s gone so well so far that Phil’s not prepared for what happens next.

The group work’s been a success, Dan’s speech was well received, and his students seem to respond amazingly to the workshop in general. So when Christopher raises his hand, at first he’s positively surprised. The boy has not exactly seemed into it so far – as Phil had expected from one of his more difficult students – but maybe Dan’s managed to touch even his closed-off teenage heart.

“Yeah, you in the back.”

A foul smile tugs on Christopher’s mouth and he leans forward slightly.

It’s at that moment that Phil realises his mistake.

“So what’s the deal – are you gay?”

Silence.

Not even a whisper or a laugh.

Phil’s heart is beating at an irregular rhythm. This day is going to send him into cardiac arrest.

He should probably intervene.

Then again, Dan had explicitly allowed personal questions earlier when he told them about his own experience with mental illness...

Before Phil can make a decision, Dan clears his throat.

Phil’s gaze flits towards him on its own accord, and he’s surprised to find him looking alert, yet polite and composed.

“Not quite.”

Not quite?

The bell tolls and the tension is broken. Luckily, the incident doesn’t seem to overshadow the prospect of lunch.

The students begin collecting their things and file out of the room in their usual disorderly manner and Phil takes the opportunity to close his eyes briefly and take a few deep breaths. His ears register the closing of the door behind what must be the last person.

Alone at last. He’s going to need all of lunch break to calm his heart down at this rate. And technically, he’s got essays to grade.

A quiet noise, like someone clearing their throat, disrupts his thoughts.

He looks up.

Dan looks back at him.

He hasn’t fled the room upon first opportunity, like Phil should have done if he’d thought the situation through.

He’s still there.

And they’re alone.

Phil’s mouth is feeling parched again, but as though his body’s trying to make up for it, his hands are suddenly very sweaty. He wonders if it’d look weird to wipe them on his trousers.

He wonders if he should be wondering about that.

He wonders if he should say something.

Then Dan exhales, averting his gaze. “So.”

Phil swallows.

_Pull yourself together. Be professional._

“You, uhh. You were good with them. The students.”

Dan looks surprised. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Phil murmurs.

It’s quiet as Dan seems to grapple with himself for a moment, but then he adds, “Coming from the man who became a teacher? High praise.”

He’s glancing at Phil, hands in his pockets again, teeth worrying at his lower lip like he used to do all those years ago whenever he was anxious.

Something about this visible reminder that this is weird for Dan, too – that he’s probably just as overwhelmed and confused and nervous by their sudden encounter as Phil – gives him courage.

“Yeah, well. I know what I’m talking about. And you were great with them. Even though I’m sorry about that last question. You know. He shouldn’t have asked – that was really inappropriate. I should have told him off –“

Dan interrupts him.

“No – it’s – it was fine. I did say they could ask me anything. And this isn’t the first school or event I’ve been too. I may not work with them full-time but I know what teenagers can be like, Phil.”

Phil flinches slightly, and Dan’s eyes seem to widen.

“I – I mean. Mr Lester.”

“Oh,” Phil says. “God. No. Don’t – don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. I just... You know. Didn’t know if we’re supposed to be on first name basis.”

“Well. Not in the front of the students, I reckon. It’s just weird – now – considering our... history.“

“Yeah. Got you.”

There’s another pause. Dan’s looking at him strangely. It’s making his skin burn and prick.

Suddenly, he feels angry. Because it’s not fair, really, for Dan to invade his life like that on a Wednesday morning in October after six years of not a word exchanged between them.

“What?” he blurts.

Dan shakes his head a little. “You’ve really... changed? Cleaned up your act. A teacher, bloody hell.”

But he doesn’t say it mockingly.

Phil’s anger evaporates as quickly as it came.

Dan didn’t choose to run into him.

But he doesn’t like the way Dan’s looking at him right now. Like... like they’re strangers.

“Not everything has changed,” he says.

Dan raises his eyebrows.

“I’m still me,” Phil insists. And then, because he can’t come up with any other proof, he grasps his trouser legs just above his knees and pulls. “See? Odd socks.”

Dan makes a choked noise and Phil looks up from his corgi/cacti match of the day to find him with his hand in front of his mouth, stifling a laugh.

It’s a genuine laugh – through the gap between his fingers, his dimple is showing.

Apparently not everything about Dan has changed either.

Phil takes a breath. Then he pushes away from the windowsill.

“You hungry, Dan?”

“Depends. Is your cafeteria any good?”

Phil chuckles. “No.”

“Oh. Uhh.” Dan blinks. “Suppose I could go for a coffee?”

“The machine in the staff room’s broken.”

“Jesus. How do you survive?“

“Well... there’s a Starbucks just around the corner and down the street.”

Dan cocks his head to the side. “So what are we waiting for? Let’s make a break for it.”

Oh. We?

“I’m not really supposed to leave the premises during lunch.”

“I thought you were a teacher, not a student.”

“Yeah, meaning I have to lead by example.”

A mischievous grin takes over Dan’s face and he lowers his voice conspiratorially. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Phil swallows.

He shouldn’t. There are a million reasons why he really, really shouldn’t agree to this.

He’s got work to do and he’s trying to set a good example for his students and the last thing he should be doing is take his ex out for coffee.

Dan’s looking at him expectantly.

Somehow, Phil’s unruly heart must have ended up in his throat because he can feel it beating there.

He grabs his bag from the desk. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

Phil imagines the barista gives him a bit of a weird look when he turns up at the same Starbucks again that he’d been to in the morning. Dan’s offered to grab a table for them while Phil orders and now Phil can see him out of the corner of his eye, sat resting his elbows on the table and tapping around on his phone, fingers of one hand tangled in his curls.

The curls.

Something that symbolises the ways in which he’s changed and yet rings back to the early days of when they’d first started dating, how he’d be embarrassed but Phil loved playing with his hair when it would begin to curl after he came out of the shower, or in from the rain, or after sex –

Okay, wow. Time to stop that thought in its tracks.

“Two caramel macchiatos for Dan and Phil?”

“That’s me, thanks.”

He wraps the paper sleeves around the cups and carries them over to the table, careful not to look up at Dan before he puts them down in fear of flinching and spilling again.

When he finally does sit, it feels suddenly impossible to look up.

He must have ended up spilling a little bit – perhaps his hands were shaking or the cup was filled to the brim – because there’s a little coffee stain around the rim of it, painting the white table chestnut brown. Phil reaches to run his finger through it.

“Hey.”

He forces himself to raise his chin and meet Dan’s eyes – and there’s that chestnut brown again, except deeper and richer, and at least as warm as the cup against his hands.

“Hi.” His breath seems to stutter on the exhale, like Dan’s gaze is making his body malfunction even during the simplest tasks.

“You okay?”

Dan sounds genuinely concerned.

Why isn’t he as nervous? Or maybe he’s just better at hiding it.

And now his brows are furrowing and Phil’s been staring at him for too many seconds to not have said anything. He desperately needs to come up with something to talk about.

“Earlier,” he says.

Dan raises an eyebrow and the cup to his mouth. “Yes?”

“When you talked about... your depression. How you felt. How things were for you after...”

He swallows. The preoccupation with Dan’s mere presence takes a backseat in favour of the memory of his speech in the classroom.

He’s not sure what he’s saying. What he’s trying to say. If there’s anything he’s supposed to be saying... What’s the correct procedure when you heard your ex boyfriend say he nearly lost the will to live a few months after you broke up?

He wraps his hand around the cup, feeling the heat against his palms, then in his mouth and throat as he takes a sip, not even tasting anything.

“I- I,” he stammers. “I didn’t know.”

It’s incomplete and possibly incomprehensible, but it’s the best he can do for now.

Dan’s voice is low and soft. “Phil.”

It makes Phil’s throat close up, tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill like the coffee. Even if he wasn’t trying to keep his voice down, he’s not sure he could manage more than a hoarse whisper.

“I’m so sorry. Fuck. I had no idea. I should have –”

“Phil,” Dan repeats, cutting him off. “Hey. Look at me.”

He does.

Dan’s face is sober, but the tilt of his head and shape of his eyebrows suggest empathy.

“Listen. You couldn’t. Okay? There was nothing you could have done.”

Phil shakes his head, fiddling with the lid of his cup. “But if I hadn’t –“

Dan reaches out and stills his nervous fingers with a brief touch. Warmth seems to flood Phil’s body from the tips of his fingers to his core, overwhelming and grounding all at once.

He’s quite aware he’s not moving.

He’s not entirely sure he’s breathing.

Then Dan pulls his hand away and continues talking, and Phil forces himself to ignore his body’s reaction to the first physical contact with Dan in six years so he can _listen_.

“My depression – when it got bad – that was not your fault. I need you to understand that. If we hadn’t broken up, I still would’ve spiralled into this dark hole. Might have postponed my crisis by half a year at most, but it was always going to hit me. It was inside me, Phil. It had to come out at some point no matter how hard I was repressing it. – It’s still there now, obviously, but I’ve learned how to handle it."

There’s a little bit of relief, like something dark pouring out of Phil and being replaced by light air.

And yet...

"Was there really nothing I could have done differently, back when we were still together? I mean... when we met, you pulled me out of my slump quite effectively."

Dan exhales, turning his cup on the spot. "Yeah, well. I guess that's the difference between temporal and chronic depression. You were wonderful... as a boyfriend. But a boyfriend can’t substitute a therapist."

"Right... you're right. Sorry. I’m being an idiot, aren't I?"

"No. Phil... don't put yourself down. You were great. And I – I loved you.”

Phil blinks, taking a moment to arrange his thoughts.

"Still, I wish I’d handled things differently."

“Look, okay – nevermind what happened between us,” Dan says. “We shouldn't be trying to fix what's in the past. It was what it was and now is now and we're different now. Right?"

Phil clears his throat. "Yeah. I reckon that’s true."

He’s overcome by an intense sense of disappointment, like a physically manifested pull from the centre of the earth, adding more weight to gravity.

The irritating thing is that he doesn’t know what this disappointment is directed at. To be disappointed you have to have hopes first, and what exactly has he been hoping for?

If anything, he should be glad, because Dan’s just told him that the terrible mental state he fell into after their split-up was not caused by anything Phil did – and even though it hurts him to know that Dan suffered, it would be infinitely worse to know he could have helped and instead made things worse.

He looks up and finds Dan checking his phone.

Surely he can’t wait to get away from Phil and his need for reassurance. He feels a surge of guilt and embarrassment – how self-centred and inconsiderate of him to be sitting here and making Dan talk about his mental health struggles after he’s just given a surely very emotionally exhausting workshop on the matter...

As if noticing his glance, Dan quickly pockets the device and chuckles. “Sorry. I’m trying not to be on my phone while talking to people. You’re not boring me, I promise. Just – how long’s your lunch break again?”

“Oh.” Phil hurries to check his wristwatch. “Shoot, we should go. Yeah. We’ve got five minutes to get back. But I don’t have a class right now – I can help you find the room where you’re scheduled next, if you want.”

Dan smiles. “That’d be great, thanks. By the way –“ He turns his cup around and points to where, above the paper sleeve, a hint of a sharpie scrawl is visible that distinctly starts with a P. “You gave me yours.”

Phil feels himself blushing again. “Sorry about that. It was the same drink anyway.”

Dan hums, tilting his cup back to drain the last of his caramel macchiato before he stands. When he looks down at Phil, there’s a little sparkle in his eyes that Phil can feel like a physical thrill.

“Guess not everything has changed, huh?”

 

* * *

 

“Hello. Earth to Lester.”

Phil blinks, looking up from his desk. Esther’s leaning against the side of it, holding a steaming mug. “You still seem a bit out of it,” she observes.

He clears his throat, scratching at the back of his neck. “Uhh. Yeah, must be getting a cold... or something. I’m fine, though.”

She hums and takes a sip of her drink. “No more classes?”

He nods. “Nope. Just a couple of essays to grade here and then it’s home, sweet home.”

“So how was it? Is he any good?”

Blood rushes into his head and he splutters, “W-what?”

His colleague raises an eyebrow. “The workshop. With Mr Howell, what’s-his-name... David?”

“Dan. Daniel,” Phil supplies.

“Right. Mine is tomorrow.”

“Oh.” He lowers his head, heart pounding as he shuffles his papers around. “Yes, it was... fine. I mean, he’s – really good at... what he does. It was... my students learned a lot, I think.”

“Okay,” Esther draws out the O. “I’ll leave you to your work. Make sure you get a good night’s sleep tonight, you look like you could use some rest. I just came by to tell you we’ve fixed the machine, in case you need some caffeine.” She lifts her mug like she’s toasting to him. “Turns out Frank managed to jam the filter slot somehow.”

“Thanks. I’m good, actually. On coffee, I mean. W—I may have snuck out to Starbucks.”

Esther laughs. “You’ll go dark side for your caffeine fix, huh? Well, I’ll see you later. Got to prep my students for that workshop tomorrow. Make sure they behave so it’ll go as well as yours.”

The day has drained him. But maybe Esther's right, Phil thinks as she walks away. All he needs is a good night's sleep and then tomorrow will be just fine.

At the very least, it should bring less emotional turmoil than today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *According to wikipedia, ‘Dymphna is the patron saint of the nervous, emotionally disturbed, mentally ill, and those who suffer neurological disorders – and, consequently, of psychologists, psychiatrists, and neurologists.’


	2. I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil has a migraine.
> 
> Dan has his number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan is bold text.

>  „Time to get up.“
> 
> **„I don’t want to.“**
> 
> „I made pancakes.“
> 
> **„Not hungry.“**
> 
> „Come on. We can watch Buffy while we eat.“
> 
> **“Not interested.”**
> 
> “Well, you need to get up anyway. You have a lecture in an hour.“
> 
> **“What’s the point in going? I won’t understand anything and I don’t even care, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I’m too stupid to become a lawyer –“**
> 
> “You’ll feel bad if you skip again.”
> 
> **“Don’t you get it? I’ll feel like shit either way. I might as well just lie here and wait for death.”**
> 
> “Dan...”
> 
> **“Just leave me alone, Phil.”**

 

* * *

 

 

Light filters through Phil’s eyelids. It’s so violently bright – he moves his head to turn away from the source and immediately a stabbing pain flashes through the left side of his head. It doesn’t stop, merely transitioning into a steady throb near his temple that perhaps has been there for hours before he gained enough consciousness to become aware of it.

Slowly, slowly, he gathers his courage and manages to blink his eyes open far enough to focus on the clock on his bedside table. Ten minutes before his alarm will go off.

As he lifts his head, trying to sit up and reach for the glass of water beside the clock, nausea floods him and he swallows harshly, sinking back into the pillow.

He’s not going to school today.

It takes him about five minutes to scoot to the side of the bed so he can reach his phone and call in sick. Thankfully, he keeps his migraine pills in the top drawer of his bedside table, so he swallows one with a mouthful of water.

He passes out again almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

 

* * *

 

 

 

> “Why are you sad, Dan?”
> 
> **“Because I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”**
> 
> “Well, you’re at university. You don’t have to think about that for another two years.”
> 
> **„But what then, Phil? What then? I become a lawyer? I sit in an office all day? I go to court defending assholes who deserve to rot in jail? All while wearing a suit and tie? Can you picture me doing that?”**
> 
> “I thought that was the plan.”
> 
> **“I don’t know. I don’t know. I just picked it because it sounded sensible and I knew my parents would approve.”**
> 
> “If it’s not your dream maybe you should try something else.”
> 
> **“Easy for you to say with your parents supporting you through everything and your master’s degree.”**
> 
> “I’m just saying... you should do it for you. You deserve to be happy, Dan.”
> 
> **“I don’t know if I can be.”**
> 
> “I thought you were... at one point. With me. ... Weren’t you? ... Dan?“
> 
>  

 

* * *

 

It’s past noon when Phil wakes up again. He doesn’t feel very well rested, rather like he’s been drifting in and out of sleep, his subconscious plagued by dreams whose memory is slipping now. His throat feels parched and his stomach lurches and growls when he carefully sits up against the headrest.

The headache, however, has subsided to a low throb at his temple and a tight feeling like he’s wearing a headband several sizes too small.

Lucky. He must have taken the pill just in time.

His hair is clinging to his face and his t-shirt to his back. He feels sweaty and gross, but maybe a shower is pushing the boundaries a little.

Food, he reminds himself. Food and water. His doctor has advised him against taking the painkiller on an empty stomach. He should really be keeping biscuits in this drawer.

He manages to pull on socks and a hoodie and drag himself to the kitchen where he splashes tap water in his face and gulps down two glasses of it with some plain toast. It’s not great, but it’s enough to placate his stomach for now without provoking more nausea.

Back in his room, he cracks the window to let in some fresh air and sits on his bed with the covers pulled up over his legs, shivering as he checks his messages.

The head teacher’s sent him an email to let him know who’s taking over his classes today and asking to let her know if he’ll be staying home tomorrow as well, ending on a polite _Get well soon_.

Just as he’s about to set his phone aside, contemplating whether he should watch some TV or calm his workaholic’s conscience by attempting to mark the overdue essays, the device vibrates in his hand.

The sensation seems to shoot up through his arm right into his skull, making the vein at the side of his head pulsate angrily for a moment.

Irritated, he glances at the display.

It’s a text by an unknown number and all it says is “hi.”

Phil stares at the cryptic little word. The brightness of the screen still hurts his eyes and the letters blur in front of his eyes.

Then a second message pops up underneath the first, followed by a third.

**“got your number from the ginger teacher whose name i can’t remember rip. hope that was ok? just wanted to check in with u.”**

**"oh this is dan btw.”**

Phil draws in a shaky breath and lets his thumb hover over the keyboard.

“hi dan.”

The reply comes almost immediately.

**“hey lol”**

“it’s fine that esther gave you the number”

**“good good bc it took a lot of convincing she was not so taken with me for some reason :/”**

Phil presses his lips together at the sight of the weird little text face.

“oh how come? did the workshop not go well”

The three dots take a while to disappear this time.

**“the workshop was fine but after? idk mate like she kept talking to me asking what im doing tonight and friday and where im staying and when im going home so i pretended to be extremely busy and that really bummed her out i think”**

Phil swallows. She was flirting with him. But he didn’t go for it?

He starts two messages and deletes them before he settles on a simple “sorry about that.”

**“its all good at least i got your number out of it :)”**

Phil gnaws at his lower lip. Before he can think of something to reply, another text arrives.

**“so enough about me how are you doing? esther said you’re home sick.”**

“yeah im ok just woke up with a migraine”

**“oh yikes!”**

**“do you have pills and stuff? did you have water?”**

**"idk what ur supposed to do in these situations, maybe i should let you sleep?”**

For some reason, the thought of Dan ceasing to text him feels more threatening than the return of his headache, so Phil hurries to reply.

“yes and yes and no pls don’t i’ve slept enough for now or i won’t be able to get any tonight”

“any sleep i mean”

**“yeah i figured thats what you meant lmao ;)”**

A blush heats his face.

**“guess i’ll continue to entertain you then for as long as you’ll have me”**

It’s easy to imagine that he’s flirting when he’s talking to Phil like this – banter with romantic subtext. Like when they were still together, before things went all wrong.

But surely Dan is just being funny. His humour and charm paired with his good looks and emotional maturity are basically a guarantee for him not being single.

This isn’t then, this is now, and they’re different now. At least, that’s what Dan has said.

Phil closes his eyes for a second, clearing his mind, and when he opens them again he types the first thing he can come up with.

“whatever would i do without you?”

**"netflix?”**

“nah. this is more fun.”

**“wow im honoured. and now i feel under pressure”**

Phil sends him an array of guitar and musical tone emojis.

Dan responds a minute later with a copy-paste of the entire lyrics to the Queen song.

Phil’s eyes get caught on the last verse, probably just because it’s the only thing he doesn’t have to scroll up to read.

**“Can't we give ourselves one more chance?**

**Why can't we give love that one more chance?**

**Why can't we give love, give love, give love,**

**give love, give love, give love, ...”**

His breath catches in his throat. _Breathe, for heaven’s sake. Breathe._

 _Shit_. He’s got to say something, quickly, something casual –

“so what are you up to today”

Great. How very original of him. Flawlessly segwayed.

**“well im still at school for another hour and then not much tbh. got to write down how the workshops went for my supervisors at young minds. probably going to do some yoga after and then watch something idk”**

Phil blinks, rereading the message.

“yoga? you do yoga?”

**“yeah... have been for about two years or so”**

“omg like regularly?”

**“yep. it’s part of this whole trying not to fall into a depression pit thing im doing”**

“oh right”

Phil tries to dissipate the vague feeling of discomfort that arises in him when Dan mentions his depression. Dan had said in his speech that it was hard for him to open up about his mental health and that he still doesn’t find it easy to do at all times, especially when he’s not sure how people will react.

Dan is trusting him with this. The least Phil can do is not be weird about it.

“well it’s good that you’re keeping in shape. it shows”

Oh, god. So much for not making it weird –

**“hah. a toned ass is one of the perks I guess. thanks for noticing ;)”**

“Oh yeah? I should probably give that a try as well then.”

**“dw you’re already well fit”**

He has no idea how to respond to the compliment. His heart’s still beating a little too fast, his cheeks are burning.

What’s happening? What if Dan _is_ single? Should he ask? Or would that be too much?

His head is spinning. Before he can think of a way to respond, there are the three dots again.

**“its been fun chatting with you but i've got to head off to my last workshop now so i'm afraid i'll have to leave u to netflix :(”**

Phil suppresses a “Netflix and Chill” joke and settles for wishing Dan good luck.

As he looks up, he becomes aware that the window is still open. There’s enough crisp air in the room now, even though Phil’s lungs currently seem to struggle reeling it in. He stands, walking over to the window and taking a few deep, slow breaths before he shuts it and returns to his phone.

**“ty :) u coming back tomorrow?”**

“probably, i should be as good as new after a solid night’s sleep.”

**“good bc it’s my last day and i’d hate missing out on a proper goodbye”**

_A proper goodbye_. Phil swallows. He’s not sure what that means, though his brain would like to make some suggestions.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he types. After a moment’s contemplation, he sends another text.

“and dan?”

For a second, he thinks Dan has already gone off to his next class. But then –

**“yes phil?”**

“don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

Three dots.

They move and disappear – move and disappear again, until finally, they make room for a message.

**“I won’t. I promise. <3”**

Phil stares at the heart for a good minute before he finds it in him to close the chat.

 _Save number to your contacts?_ His phone asks.

He selects _Save as new contact_ and leans back into his pillows, eyes slipping closed.

 

* * *

 

He comes to a little disoriented. The light is dim in his room – through the window, he can see that the sun’s begun to set. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep again, but at least his headache’s not gotten worse, and the nausea is almost gone. Phil sits up, waiting for the dizziness to dissolve so he can stand. Even though he hasn’t had a lot to drink today, he really needs a wee now.

After washing his hands, he leans down to take a drink from the tap. The cold water feels nice on his face, and it seems to clear out the last bit of dozy confusion. As he straightens up to, beholding his pale face in the mirror, the memory of the dream he’s woken up from pushes itself to the fore.

 

>  
> 
> **“What the fuck, Phil?”**
> 
> “Dan – just hear me out –“
> 
> **“We can’t get – you know we can’t – why the hell would you think that –“**
> 
> “Well, not yet, but there’s civil partnerships and – please, Dan, I was just trying –“
> 
> **“My family doesn’t even know I have a boyfriend, Phil, they still think of you as my roommate!”**
> 
> “You’re saying that like it’s my fault!”
> 
> **“Look, it’s not that easy for me, okay?”**
> 
> “What are you so afraid of, Dan? Even if worse comes to worst and they reject you – so what, you don’t need them, you don’t live with them anymore! If they don’t love you as you are, they don’t deserve you in their lives!”
> 
> **“Oh, and I suppose you think that because you love me as I am, you’re – what, entitled to me? You don’t own me, Phil! You don’t get to make decisions for me!”**
> 
> “Maybe if you made your own decisions I wouldn’t have to!”
> 
> **“You want me to make my own decision, do you? ... Fine then. Here’s my decision: No. You hear me? Take your bloody ring and give it back to the store, I hope you kept a receipt – or keep it for the next person you think you get to bind to yourself because they depend on you – I don’t give a shit – but I’m out.”**
> 
> “... Dan. Please – don’t do this...”
> 
> **“I’m going to s-stay with a friend.”**
> 
> “Dan. Don’t l-leave – please d-don’t leave – we can t-talk about this...”
> 
> **“I’ll pick my things u-up when you’re at work.”**
> 
> “Please – no – I’m sorry – I love –“
> 
> **“Don’t y-you dare say that. Don’t f-fucking say it.”**

Phil screws his eyes shut, groaning as turns on the tap and dips his face into the stream again.

It’s been years since he’s consciously remembered the whole thing. He’s relived, regretted and repressed it. But of course it’s returned now, now that he’s seen Dan again.

 _Things have changed. You’ve both grown. He’s not mad at you anymore_ , he reminds himself.

He grabs a towel off the rack and wipes his face roughly.

_Am I still mad at him?_

Swallowing hard, he forces himself to ponder the question.

Dan was young, and struggling in ways that Phil didn’t understand then. Part of those he understands better now, after Dan’s speech in his classroom and their conversations. Maybe back then Dan hadn’t understood them himself or just been unable to communicate. And maybe Phil had been unwilling to accept that Dan needed something he couldn’t give him – like Dan said at the coffee shop, _a boyfriend can’t substitute a therapist._

The headache pulses at his temple almost like it wants to tell him something.

The migraines, Phil thinks as he hangs up the towel – he’s had them on and off for about five years, but they’re something he’d never suffered from while he was with Dan. Back then, he was always the one taking care of Dan when he wouldn’t get out of bed, making him his favourite breakfast foods, luring him out to the lounge with the promise of a new Game of Thrones episode, washing his hair for him when he’d finally gotten him into (and off in) the shower...

He was – and is – older by four and a half years, a gap that wasn’t unnoticeable when they were dating. Phil was already done with uni while Dan had just finished sixth form. He’d already gone through the first critical stage of considering what he wanted to do with his life, and although his plan has changed quite a bit since then – despite his English degree he’d never planned to become a teacher, but the opportunity had presented itself to him about a year after their breakup – and thanks to his family, he had the financial and emotional support to figure the rest out in his own time.

Dan didn’t. His emotional – and at times financial – support was Phil. And the more Phil had tried to be there for him, the more he’d grown to hate that dependence, the height of which was reached when Dan dropped out of his law course.

Feeling that their relationship was doomed to fail, Phil had taken to desperate measures to save it.

He’d proposed to Dan.

And Dan had freaked out and rejected him harshly.

In retrospect, Phil thinks, it was a predictable reaction. It was too soon – neither of them were ready for that kind of commitment. And even back then when he was hurting, he had never been able to hate Dan for leaving and breaking his heart because he knew he’d partly brought it on himself.

Perhaps that was the worst pain, knowing that he’d dealt the deathblow to their love.

And yet here Dan is now, at Phil’s school, asking him to get coffee, texting him to check up on how he’s doing.

The sound of running water brings Phil back to reality. He washes his hands again before he turns it off.

As the last drops disappear down the drain, Phil takes a deep breath and lets the past go with them.

 

* * *

 

Five minutes later switches on the kettle in the kitchen and rifles through his cupboard for peppermint tea which his mother swears by to treat nausea.

As the tea steeps, he pulls his phone out of his pocket by habit to check his messages. There aren’t any new ones, but his eyes fall on the most recent chat log.

He probably shouldn’t.

Texting your ex back after he asked how you’re doing because you’re home sick is one thing. But deliberately initiating contact for no other reason than that you realised you love talking to him is another.

He opens the log.

Especially if you don’t know whether he’s seeing anyone.

He types a message.

And most especially if said ex is going to be leaving town very soon and you probably won’t see him again in a while.

Phil’s thumb hovers over _send_ for a good minute.

Then again, if he’s not going to be seeing Dan anytime soon after tomorrow, he might as well make the most of it, right? And if Dan _is_ seeing someone else – well, he’d mention it, wouldn’t he?

“so i may have taken an accidental five hour nap”

It only takes a minute for Dan to reply.

**“oh rip”**

**“how are you feeling?”**

It’s nice to feel – maybe to pretend – that Dan cares for him.

“okayish,” he responds. “kind of groggy”

**“make sure to hydrate mate”**

He smiles at the rhyme.

“yes captain”

**“have you eaten?”**

Dan’s question makes Phil’s stomach rumble. He has, in fact, not eaten for several hours. And his tea’s probably done by now.

“uhh. Some toast? At like noon”

**“jesus. Go have sth to eat then as well”**

He sets down his phone to remove the tea bag from his adventure time mug and grab a bowl from the cupboard.

“im making cereal,” he tells Dan, filling the bowl with shreddies and almond milk.

His phone chimes.

**“good boy”**

Phil spills a little bit of milk on the counter as blood rushes into his cheeks, and he sets the carton down with slightly shaky hands.

“bark bark,” he attempts a humorous response.

Dan sends a gif of a tiny barking Pomeranian.

“omg,” Phil opens gif search and responds with a gif of two corgi puppies rolling around on the floor.

Dan’s reaction is the shibe meme.

Phil has to smile. He takes a sip of tea, enjoying the warmth in his tummy.

“:)”

“what are you up to?”

**“well ive just finished my exercises and now im v sweaty”**

Oh, right. He’d said he was going to do yoga later on.

Phil makes a mental effort to repress the image of sweaty Dan. His hair’s probably gone all curly now.

“oh sorry am i keeping u from showering?”

Dan in the shower. Also a mental image to repress. Especially now that he’s taller and kind of _ripped_. Oh Jesus –

**“nah it’s all good i’ll probably take one right before bed so i can feel fresh and cosy”**

The unexpectedly candid response makes Phil bite his lip.

“aww,” he sends. And before his brain can hold him back, he adds, “hey i like the curls btw its a strong look”

**“oh”**

**“thank you :)”**

He feels an odd sense of pride for taking Dan by surprise with the compliment.

“yw”

There’s a pause in the conversation and Phil uses it to shovel some cereal into his mouth. He doesn’t trust himself to eat and text at the same time. Just as he’s swallowing his third spoonful, Dan replies again.

**“ugh now im hungry as well”**

“so go get dinner”

**“can’t, im sweaty and in my yoga pants remember”**

Phil’s jaw drops, and he’s quite thankful his mouth is empty because otherwise he’d be dribbling milk down his front right now.

“you wear yoga pants???”

**“yes? thats what ur supposed to wear when u do yoga?”**

Phil giggles to himself.

“i can’t believe this”

 **“you better believe it** ,” Dan texts and then he sends a photo.

And Phil nearly chokes on his cereal.

 It’s a selfie, taken with an outstretched arm so Dan’s body is in shot from head to mid-thigh. He’s reclining on what must be a hotel bed, tousled curls flopping over a headband that’s supposed to hold them back from his forehead, wearing a grey brand-name t-shirt hugging his torso in ways that suggest well-defined muscles, and a pair of rather short and _very_ tight black yoga pants that cling to his thighs and other body parts—

Wow. _Fuck_.

Phil squeezes his eyes shut, taking a few deep breaths. He’s not going to lose his head over what was probably intended to be an innocent proof of Dan’s statement.

But Christ –

Phil is only a man, after all.

“nice,” he sends, and then his eyes widen as he realises his mistake and he quickly adds, “*headband”

**"lol”**

Phil’s heart’s beating quite vigorously in his chest, thumping against his ribcage. And it’s not the only part of his body demanding his attention right now.

This was definitely a bad idea.


	3. Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close to focus on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan and Phil go out to dinner.

Friday morning comes with cold winds that smell like snow. Phil has loved the frosty scent since he was a little kid.

Of course, it’s only October and the day’s going to warm up and there probably won’t be any snow for at least another month or two, and some people might even say that snow doesn’t have a specific smell, but Phil’s going to take it as a good sign.

That, and the fact that his headache has dissolved almost completely overnight.

He arrives at school with half an hour to spare and parks, sitting back with a deep sigh.

There aren’t any students around yet, only a few other parking spaces are taken. He spots Esther’s blue honda civic at the other end of the lot.

He wonders if Dan came by car. If he has a car. Or if he took public transport. If he’s there already, inside the building...

Wednesday seems ages away, cloaked in fog. Of course, he could check his messages right now to see Dan’s texts from yesterday, make sure it wasn’t all a dream that his fever-delirious brain came up with...

Phil breathes out, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the wheel.

He can do this. He can face Dan again. They’re fine. It’s fine...

There’s a knock on his window and he flinches, hitting the horn by accident.

His heart pounding, he opens the door. 

Esther’s stood there, laughing at his clumsiness. “You know, Lester, a simple good morning would suffice.”

Phil’s cheeks feel hot. “Well, had to make a big entrance after my day off,” he jokes weakly. “Morning, Esther.”

She moves aside to let him get out of the car and lock up.

As they head up to the school, she nudges him with her elbow. “So, you left me alone yesterday.”

“Yeah.” Phil hosts his bag up on his shoulders. “Sorry. Can’t schedule those migraines. I’m all better now though.”

He holds the door open for her. “You had your workshop, right?”

“Yep. It went well, I think. Although you didn’t warn me about him.”

Phil blinks. “Huh?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’d noticed – your female students probably have – but he’s a major looker up close.”

“Oh.” He has noticed, but he’s certainly not going to admit that.

“Yes. Pity he’s gay. Waste of a cute arse, really.”

Phil nearly trips over his own feet. Luckily, they’ve reached the staff room so Esther’s busy opening the door and doesn’t notice his gobsmacked expression.

He clears his throat and does his best to wipe his face clear of emotion as he follows her inside. “Really, you think? I mean... how do you figure...?”

“Well, for one thing, I can usually sense these things. Suppose I must have a gaydar or what’s-it-called.” She takes a seat behind her desk and as she looks up at Phil one of her eyebrows is raised suggestively.

Phil’s bag nearly slips out of his sweaty hands.

“Secondly,” Esther continues, “I was chatting him up during break and he barely spared me a glance. I mean, he wasn’t rude or anything, but very clearly not interested in this.” She gestures to herself.

Phil hums in response, ducking to fish his pencil case out of his bag. He can feel Esther’s eyes on him, so he keeps his head down.

“I hope it was okay I gave him your number. He said it was for work...”

Finally, he can’t pretend to be looking for any longer, so he sits up and glances up at her with a forced smile. “No – it’s. Yeah. It’s all good. That you gave him my number. He just wanted – he had a question about – something. Not important.”

“Okay.”

They both work on their papers for a while, the silence awkward and stripped of its usual air of companionability. Phil’s filling in a Young Minds evaluation sheet about the workshop.

_Please provide the year your students are in and the name of the Young Minds Ambassador giving the workshop in your institution._

_Year: 10_

Esther taps her pencil on his desk. “So, Lester. What are you up to this weekend? Any plans? I think a couple of the others are going for drinks later. I might join them, though I’ve been wanting to see this new horror flick in the cinema.”

_Name: Daniel Howell_

“Oh. Yeah,” Phil responds without thinking. “I’m, uhh, pretty much busy all weekend. Including tonight.”

 Esther sounds a little surprised, but still not dejected. “Ah, bugger. I could use someone to hold my hand.”

 “Sorry,” Phil clears his throat. “It’s just, you know, I need to finish marking those essays – that sick day really threw me behind. But do let me know if it’s any good though. Or if you don’t want to go alone you could always grab drinks and force Frank along when he’s drunk.”

_Please rate the accuracy of the following statements._

_1 The Young Minds Ambassador succeeded in engaging my students’ interest in the topic. – Strongly Agree_

_2 My students were able to relate to the Young Minds Ambassador. – Strongly Agree_

“Right.”

Phil glances at the clock and is relieved to find the clockhand inching slowly closer to nine. A few colleagues have come in while they’ve been working and the buzz of the final working day envelopes them.

He stores the evaluation sheet in his bag. “I’d better get going.”

Esther nods and gives him a smile that seems quite forced. “I’ll see you Monday then... or maybe at lunch?”

Phil shrugs non-committally. “Yeah. Uhm. Have a good day – weekend, I mean.”

“And you.”

 

* * *

 

Throughout the day, Phil keeps waiting to run into Dan.

He doesn't meet him on his way to class. He doesn't lay eyes on him in the halls, nor the teacher's bathroom or in the cafeteria during lunch break.

The first sign of Dan's presence in the building are two girls stood outside a classroom he passes by, speaking in hushed tones.

"D'you think he has a girlfriend? He's like, way too cute to be single."

"Yeah," the other girl giggles. "But did you hear that Cassie said Emily said he told her class he's ‘not quite’ gay?"

"Oh my God. What'd you reckon that means?"

"I dunno. Maybe he's like, bisexual or something."

"Wow. That's kind of hot, isn't it?"

"He seems so young. D'you think he'd do it with a stud--"

"Shhh!!"

The second girl shushes her friend when she spots Phil, her cheeks flushing. Both of them look quite nervous, as though they’re wondering how long he’s been in earshot or if he’s going to tell them off for loitering in the hallway.

But Phil’s spent too much of his day hanging about waiting to run into a certain someone to chastise them, and he really doesn’t want them to know how much he’s heard of their conversation, so he merely gives them a polite nod and the girls return the gesture awkwardly.

He makes his way to the staff room with his ears still burning with embarrassment and pushes open the door with the intention of gathering his coat and going home before he can put it off any longer – and there’s Dan, surrounded by several of Phil’s colleagues, though Esther is not among them.

“Lester!“ Frank hollers as soon as he spots Phil. “I hope you’ll be joining us for drinks tonight! We’ve got to celebrate the achievements of this one. Didn’t strangle a single one of my year 8 brats.”

And he claps Dan’s shoulder.

Dan’s eyes light up briefly at the sight of Phil – or so he imagines. Then he chuckles weakly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I’d call that an achievement, really. They’re bright kids.”

“Little devils is what they are. You had more patience than they deserve. So anyway, shall we say around eight? Heather can give you directions to our usual place, can’t you, love?”

Heather nods, already thumbing through her phone. “Yeah, it’s not far from here, actually –”

Dan clears his throat. “Well, I’d love to, but I’m afraid I can’t make it tonight.”

Frank raises an eyebrow. “Plans of your own?”

Dan nods.

“Aww, who are you turning us down for?” Heather inquires.

Seeing Dan struggling to come up with a reply, Phil chimes in. “I can’t come, either. Sorry. You guys have fun, though!”

Through the utterances of disappointment, Phil catches Dan smiling at him.

Then he says, “Would you excuse us? Could I talk to you for a second, Ph– Mr Lester?”

Phil blinks. “Oh. Yes, of course. Let me just – get my coat...“ He grabs it from the coat hanger and nods goodbye to his colleagues, holding the door for Dan before he follows him out of the room and into the hall.

“So, what did you want?” he asks in a low, but as he hopes casual, voice.

To his surprise, Dan seems nervous, looking around himself for potential listeners.

“Can we go somewhere a little more private?”

 “Well... I don’t have an office.”

After a moment’s contemplation, Dan leans in to listen at the nearest door and then tries the handle – it’s unlocked.

He looks at Phil over his shoulder. “After you, Sir,“ he teases.

His nervous energy is contagious. Blushing and biting back a giggle, Phil enters. It’s an empty classroom, but for all Dan knew it could’ve been a broom closet.

He wonders what Dan wanted privacy for...

“So. Uh...” Dan clasps his hands together. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Phil feels himself deflate like a balloon poked with a needle. “Right.”

“And I don’t know about you, but fifteen minutes at Starbucks seems like way too short a time to catch up.”

Phil tucks his hands into his pockets. “I agree. If I hadn’t gotten sick, we could’ve gone again yesterday. Sorry about that –“

Dan shushes him. “Don’t apologise for getting ill. Look, I was just thinking – because you told me not to be a stranger – maybe you’d want to have dinner tonight... with me?”

Another “oh” escapes Phil. He doesn’t really know what else to say. All the words of the English language have abandoned him and he’s left only with a feeling of blank astonishment.

Dan seems to read his silence as discomfort, beginning to pace on the spot as he rambles.

“Unless, of course, you really are busy and you didn’t just say that to get your coworkers off your back – I shouldn’t have assumed you could make time, I mean I know you’re hardworking and I’ve probably already disrupted your schedule enough in the past few days and if you don’t want to go out with me – I mean it’d just be as friends, really, to talk about everything we’ve missed in each other’s lives – anyway, I’d understand if –“

Phil opens his mouth.

“Dan.”

There’s a word he knows.

Dan looks up at him.

Phil clears his throat. More words – he needs more words.

“I’d love to have dinner.”

Dan visibly lets out a breath and a smile blossoms slowly on his face. “Really?”

Phil nods. “Yeah. We’ve got loads of catching up to do.”

Dan’s just grinning at him now. “Brilliant. So – you have any preferences? Any places you really like to go? Just as long as it’s nowhere near that bar where your coworkers are going, or we might get into a very awkward situation.“

“Yeah, I’ve got a few I can think of... why don’t I check which ones have tables left and then text you the address?”

“Perfect. Let me know the time as well. I’ll leave that up to you.”

“Okay. So I’ll... see you there then? Wherever _there_ is going to be.”

“Wherever, whenever,” Dan winks at him. “I’ll be there.”

 

* * *

 

Phil has chosen his favourite Japanese restaurant as their meeting place. Normally he orders takeaway from there at least once a week, and their recollection of his name and habit to tip generously might have something to do with their giving him a table on a Friday night.

It’s within walking distance from his flat, too, so he leaves his car at home and takes the stroll through the brisk evening air, arriving a little before eight.

They’ve arranged to meet inside and Phil’s glad for it because the wind has picked up significantly and he’s sure his cheeks and nose are red by the time he gets there.

He’s been seated for about five minutes and is browsing through the drinks menu when the door opens. Phil looks up to see Dan speaking to a waiter who points him to the back. As he spots Phil, a smile spreads like wildfire on his face and he begins to head towards the table. He’s dressed in a crisp white button-up with a delicate constellation pattern paired with his signature black skinny jeans.

Phil feels a little self-conscious in his simple grey fox-print jumper, and he blushes when Dan’s standing in front of him.

“Hi.”

Phil smiles back. „Hi. Did you find it okay?“

Dan nods. “I took a cab and got dropped off right outside.” He sits, looking around himself. “Nice place you picked.”

“It’s one of my favourites. I get sushi here all the time. If you’re going for a starter, you should try the miso soup, it’s amazing.”

Dan picks up a menu. “Thanks for the tip. I haven’t had good sushi in ages.”

He looks up after a minute to meet Phil’s gaze and his cheeks colour in.

Phil hasn’t noticed he’s been staring; he clears his throat and looks down. “Sorry. Just – you look nice.”

Dan’s voice is low and soft in response, reminding Phil of how surprised he was at the compliment when they texted the previous day. “Thank you. So do you, you know. Cool jumper.”

Phil huffs. „This old thing. I feel proper underdressed compared to you.“

Dan laughs quietly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve gone through all my jumpers this week and I didn’t bring anything really informal.“

Phil’s not going to say it, but he’s kind of glad Dan took this opportunity to show off the shirt. It’s a good look – his neck protrudes long and elegant from the collar.

“So, uhh. You said the miso soup is good here?”

 

* * *

 

“Right, so I took up a job with the BBC in 2012. They had some spots open for like, their social media management and working on their website and stuff, and I thought, you know, I can do this, might as well give it a go, and I got it and the pay was alright.”

Dan pauses to slurp a noodle into his mouth.

“Then one day, one of their radio hosts got sick last minute, and they’re all running around in a frenzy, thinking they’re going to have to cancel it, and I don’t know what came over me but I said, ‘Why don’t I fill in?’ For a moment they were all looking at me like I’m crazy, you know, but they must’ve figured they had no other option, so they said okay. And what do you know, it turned out I had a knack for it. So eventually, after some sporadic guest appearances, they gave me my own show.”

“Dan, that’s amazing,” Phil says. He’s been holding a spoon in front of his mouth for God knows how many minutes, and the soup is lukewarm when he sips it now.

Dan shrugs, mouthful of soup, his cheeks flushing a little.

“How come I’ve never heard you? I think I’d have noticed.”

“Oh, well,” Dan dabs at his mouth with the napkin. “It airs late at night, you’re probably already in bed, seeing as you’re a productive member of society and all.”

“I’d stay up to listen,” Phil says, struggling to fish the last few noodles out of his bowl. “Tell me more about it! How’d this lead to you being with Young Minds?”

“Well, it’s called Internet Support Group – clearly aimed at young people, trying to be relatable and all that – and it’s very interactive, so they can like, call in or text and get advice – half in earnest, half in jest, obviously. And a lot of the time, it’s teens who have no one they feel like they can confide in, and they will talk about bullying and the stress put on them by school and parents... And apparently, my – uhh – advice, if you can call it that, has been so well received I was asked to participate in that anti-bullying campaign the Royal family did a while back. Yes, I met the Prince –“ he waves Phil off, noticing his jaw has dropped.

“So anyway, a year and a half ago, someone had called in about their struggle with depression. And I opened up a little about my own experiences and actually managed to convince them to seek professional help, which was really cool, you know. The BBC then asked me if I wanted to produce a pre-recorded show for mental health day, and after some thinking, I said yes. They put the video up on their website and it went a little viral and apparently, someone at Young Minds UK found it so touching they reached out and offered me a position as their ambassador, so here I am.”

Phil finally remembers to close his mouth and resume breathing.

“Dan,” he says, in awe. “That’s incredible. You’re doing – you’re so – good,” he rambles, probably not making a lot of sense, but Dan’s gnawing on his bottom lip, glancing at him with evident pride.

“Thank you. It’s – I love doing it. Feeling like I’m helping people, at least a little bit... it’s kind of extremely rewarding.”

He clears his throat. “Right. Uhh... Should we order main courses, then?”

 

* * *

 

“She did _not_.”

“She did! I swear!“

Dan gesticulates wildly.

“She called in to my radio show and broke up with me live on air.”

Phil’s gasping. “That’s _horrible_!”

Dan shrugs a little, taking another sip of wine.

That little patch of skin on his jaw is flushed.

“To be fair, I was a pretty shit boyfriend. Sometimes I wouldn’t talk to her for days at a time.”

“Well, I’m sure you didn’t deserve that.”

“Believe it or not, I convinced myself that I did. That was actually one of the final catalysts leading to me starting therapy. I became such a self-deprecating sack of shit that eventually, my friend Louise all but forced me to go see a professional.”

Phil raises his glass, feeling pleasantly buzzed. „To Louise.“

Dan splutters a laugh. „To Louise!“

He drains his own glass; his eyes are sparkling in the light of the candle between them. Phil can’t recall when the waiter came by to light it.

“What about you, any embarrassing stories about your exes?”

Phil swallows.

He thinks about the time five years ago when his friend had set him up with his girlfriend’s cousin on that awful double date. It had ended with her complaining he'd spent more time making heart eyes at PJ than her.

About the awkwardness that had followed, and PJ’s attempts at helping Phil move on from this impossible crush by trying to hook him up with other men.

How hard he had tried to figure out this game of dating. The anxiety that he'd say or do something weird his date wouldn't understand like PJ did. The nausea when they looked at him a certain way - like they were mentally already undressing him.

His attempts to explain to PJ why he didn't want them – _How can sparks fly before there’s fire?_ He’d asked, and PJ had looked at him blankly and said, _But sparks are what starts the fire._

Maybe they were thinking of different kinds of fire, like comparing fireworks to the comfortable warmth of a fireplace...

In any case, he’d stopped trying to force it years ago.

"None," he says to Dan. He’s got plenty of embarrassment, sure, but no stories he could laugh at.

"Oh, come on,” Dan cocks his head. “You're making me feel like the only socially inept one here.”

Phil looks down, something inside him twisting unpleasantly. “No one.”

Dan’s voice is different, quieter when he responds. "No one?"

There's a beat of silence where Phil worries that Dan’s going to pity him, but he doesn't.

He's just looking at Phil attentively, like he’s eager to understand.

"I don't think..." Phil finds himself saying, "that I fall in love the same way other people do. If I can't be comfortable – I have to be comfortable first. To be someone's friend. – And it’s not just social anxiety, I don’t think."

“Okay,” Dan says simply. And then – “You know that’s valid, right? Like, if you wanted to, I dunno, call it something – there are probably terms for that. Labels, I mean.”

"I don't really –" Phil starts, but Dan knows this.

"Yeah, me either. But just so you know, you're not the only one out there who feels that way. You're not _weird_. I mean, you are, but not because of that," he jokes, and Phil feels a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

The knot inside him untwists, settles.

He breathes in and out again.

“Are you going to eat that?” he asks in an attempt to change the subject.

Dan’s got one last California roll on his plate that he seems to be ignoring.

“Oh, no. No, I don’t think so. Go ahead, if you want it.“

He watches as Phil struggles with his chopsticks for a moment before he settles on picking it up with his fingers, and the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement –

“Oh! Oh, my God.” Phil gasps around his mouthful of rice, avocado, sesame seeds and _fire_.

Dan bursts into high-pitched laughter. “That was the one I accidentally fully dipped into the Wasabi paste,” he cackles.

His eyes are glistening and Phil is sure his own are, too, though with tears of a very different kind.

 In lack of an alternative, Phil gulps down his wine.

Dan, still chuckling, watches him. “Did that help?”

Phil, throat burning with alcohol, puts his glass down and shakes his head.

Dan grins. “Like adding fuel to the flames, huh?”

Phil pouts. “I hate you.”

“Sorry, mate, you set yourself up for that.”

He winks.

Phil finds it’s really quite impossible to stay mad at him.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Phil insists, wagging his fork in Dan’s direction, “that’s important information!”

Dan, spooning ice cream, seems amused at his exasperation. “Oh, is it?”

“Yes!” He licks his fork clean of any remainders of cake and reaches across the table to steal a piece of fruit.

Dan chuckles, acting as though he’s going to whack Phil’s hand away with his spoon.

“Sorry, I guess it hasn’t really come up in conversation so far.”

Phil huffs. “What about the other day when we exchanged dog gifs?”

Dan lays his spoon down and folds his hands in front of him. “I apologise, o great Phil, for my unforgivable faux pas. Whatever can I do to regain your favour?”

The way he’s glancing up at him through his lashes makes Phil’s inebriated brain race with ideas of he could make it up to him, but he does his best to ignore the inappropriate thoughts and focus on what matters right now.

“You could show me pictures, for starters,” he demands with a slight pout.

“That I can do.”

Dan’s phone is placed in front of him and Phil vaguely registers what a sign of trust this is, before his eyes focus on the bundle of fluff on the screen and a high-pitched “awww” escapes him.

“Her name’s Kiwi, like I said,” Dan says in a soft tone. “She’s a miniature poodle. Well, and something else mixed in probably, they didn’t really know. I got her from a shelter – wasn’t planning on getting a pet but when the BBC sent me for an interview, they’d just gotten a box of these pups and this one stole my heart. That was about – what, seven, eight months ago? God, time flies...”

Phil’s only listening to his ramble with one ear, most of his attention taken by the brown pupper being cradled against Dan’s chest in the picture.

“You can swipe right, it’s a whole folder.”

“Wouldn’t dream of swiping left on her,” Phil jokes, and Dan snorts into his ice cream.

There she is lying on Dan’s chest as he rests on a leather sofa, her little pink tongue poking out. In another one she’s running next to him on a leash, Dan’s joggers and running shoes in shot. Phil keeps swiping until he reaches the last one where she’s just a tiny ball of fur, held safely in Dan’s large hands.

“I would die for her,” Phil announces in a slightly shaky voice.

Dan chuckles; the skin around his eyes is crinkled when Phil finally looks up at him again and reluctantly hands the phone back.

“Where is she?” Phil looks around them like he’s half expecting a poodle to jump up onto Dan’s lap all of a sudden.

“She’s staying with my friend for the week. I’ve never left her alone for so long,” he sighs. “God, now you’ve made me miss the little tyke.”

“What’s with the name?”

“Oh,” Dan shrugs. “Obvious, isn’t it? She kind of looks like a kiwi. Brown and fuzzy?”

Phil shakes his head. “Not really... You sure it has nothing to do with a particular Harry Styles song?”

Dan grins. “Okay, you caught me. Now stop shaming me. I think it’s cute.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Dan wipes a splotch of ice cream off his chin.

Phil’s breath hitches a little as he watches him lick it off his thumb.

He remembers then, with a jolt, that there’s something they haven’t talked about yet, despite their conversation about exes. There’s not really an elegant way to lead over to it, but Phil’s had two glasses of wine and is feeling just tipsy enough not to care.

“So, aside from Kiwi. And Harry Styles...”

Dan smirks, and Phil takes a breath, lowering his gaze to the crumbs on his plate.

“Is there anyone else in your life?”

“Let’s see... I have friends. Colleagues at the radio. I see my family every Christmas. Oh, almost forgot. Monthly therapy appointments. Yeah, I think that’s it.”

Phil glances up. Dan’s been listing people off on his fingers, and now he’s looking at Phil inquiringly.

Maybe a little challengingly.

“Okay,” Phil says. Then he clears his throat. “No girlfriend then? Or boyfriend?”

“Nope. No romantic or sexual partner of any gender,” Dan supplies, dimples showing in the corners of his mouth like he’s trying hard not to grin.

“Oh. Okay,” Phil says again, feelings his cheeks colour in. “Umm. Good.”

 _Good?_ He backtracks. “I mean – me either.”

“Alright,” Dan chuckles.

Phil ears are burning. Apparently he’s not drunk enough yet to be immune to embarrassment.

“Enough about me then,” Dan says, saving him from continuing to ramble. “Tell me, how’d you get to be a teacher?”

Phil leans back, grateful for the change of topic.

“There was an ad on public transport that was like, ‘Do you have an English or Science degree? Become a teacher in two years’ time!’ Well, it probably wasn’t exactly like that, but – basically, that was the gist of it. And I didn’t really have a plan at the time – I was living with my friend PJ, helping him out with his video projects, but I knew I had to get out there, get my own place and a proper job. And I did have an English Language degree.”

Dan nods. “And you wanted to give it a try?”

“Well, I checked out the information it said on their website and it sounded like a sensible thing to do. That was about... five years ago now. And when I finished obviously I had to start teaching somewhere, and a position opened up here, so I jumped on it.”

He falls silent, regretting that he has no more food to occupy himself with as Dan’s eyes bore into him.

“So... do you like it? Being a teacher?”

Phil clears his throat. It’s hard for him to put his emotions into words, sometimes, but the alcohol buzzing in his veins helps a little.

„Yeah. I do. Most days. I mean – there’s loads to do all the time and it can get overwhelming, but it’s – what did you say earlier? – it’s rewarding. It gives back – like, the kids. When I get to see them improve and succeed and if I’m lucky I can get them really interested in a book or play even if they don’t show it in class because that’s not cool, of course. But then they’ll surprise me with really clever and thoughtful essays and I learn so much about what they really think and their personalities. They’re all – they’re all unique, different people and I’m preparing them for sixth form and life, in a way, and it’s a huge responsibility... I just want to do right by them, you know, even if I’m just their English teacher and they’ll probably only remember me as the pest who gave them too much homework.”

“You care a lot about them, don’t you?” Dan says it like he’s stating a fact rather than asking a question.

Phil nods, feeling his throat close up a little. He must’ve had a lot of wine, he thinks dizzily, if he’s getting emotional about his students. “They drive me nuts, sometimes. But yeah. I do.”

Dan smiles. „Good. That’s good. It’s sort of vital that you care about what you do. Or at least that’s what my therapist says.”

“Might have a point there.”

They hold eye contact for a long moment. The light of the candle flickers in Dan’s eyes – it’s quiet around them, almost as though they’re alone...

“Sirs? I’m so sorry, but we’re about to close up here. Will you be paying together?”

Dan looks up and away from Phil, giving the nervous waitress a charming smile.

“I’ll get it,“ he says, before Phil can object.

“Thank you, but you really don’t have to –“

Dan makes a dismissive gesture. “Oh, no. I asked you out, so I’m paying. No buts,” he says with a chuckle.

Phil’s brain wants to make a witty comment about buts and butts, but his tongue feels clumsy and tired from the wine so he merely swallows and stands, following Dan’s lead as he pays the bill and goes to get their coats.

 

* * *

 

Outside, the moon is bright in the sky, the stars obscured by the city lights. A brisk wind is carrying a few raindrops. Phil zips up his parka and moves aside to let Dan step out of the building and onto the street.

“So... how’d you get here?” Dan asks. “Public transport or car?”

“Neither. I walked. This place is like ten minutes from my apartment, hence my coming here all the time.”

“Oh,” Dan breathes. Phil notices that he’s got his head tucked in between his shoulders and is shivering slightly, though he’s trying to conceal it.

“Where’s your coat?”

Dan gestures to his thin leather jacket. “I’m wearing it.”

Phil lets out a shocked little laugh. “Dan! It’s like seven degrees out.”

“Alright, _Dad_ , don’t be so scandalised. I forgot autumn is like fucking winter up here. – Anyway, if you live around the corner, why don’t I walk you home? Seeing as I invited you and all.”

“You sure that isn’t just a way to get to see my apartment?” Phil asks, raising an eyebrow.

Dan blushes, knocking their shoulders together. “Shut up.” Then he licks his lips, not looking at Phil, and adds in a quieter voice, “Maybe.”

Or maybe Phil just imagines that.

He blinks. “Well. Okay. Sure. Do you know how to get back to your hotel?”

Dan nods, checking his phone. “I’ll just get a cab back. Young Minds is paying,” he grins.

So Phil starts walking, leading them in the direction of his apartment building.

They’re quiet as they walk. It’s not a very busy part of town, nowhere near the clubs and bars that make most of their money on Friday nights, so few people cross their path.

It’s also a different part of town to the one he and Dan used to live in six years ago, but there’s still a certain level of nostalgia to walking these streets together. And in the dim golden glow of the street lamps, it’s easy to glance sideways at Dan and see the younger, fragile version of him that he used to love...

Phil shakes his head. _Stay in the present_ , he reminds himself. _Enjoy it while you’ve got it._

Next to him, as they’re waiting at a red light, Dan is shaking, his shoulders hitched up to his ears.

“You good?” Phil asks, pressing his lips together.

Dan sucks in his cheeks. “Yup.”

“Want my scarf?”

Dan shakes his head, still staring ahead.

“Dan.”

The younger man's shoulders slacken next to him as he heaves a sigh. “Yeah, alright. I’m freezing my tits off.”

Phil giggles. “Come here.”

Dan turns to face him and Phil takes off his scarf, moving to wrap it gently around Dan’s neck.

He carefully pulls it tight, tucking the ends of it into Dan’s collar.

“There,” he says, looking up.

Dan’s face is... very close, and the difference to his younger self is evident now, though it’s hard for Phil to put his finger on it. Something in the firmness of his jaw and the shape of his eyebrows...

But there’s no mistaking him for a stranger. He’s still Dan, and his eyes are aglow with a honey colour, the warmth of which floods Phil’s stomach in a strange combination of want and melancholy.

Dan’s gaze flutters, and then he looks to the side. “Green,” he notes, touching a hand to Phil’s elbow to steer him across the street.

Phil presses his lips together hard and makes his legs follow.

 

* * *

 

Phil fumbles with the key for a moment, his fingers shaking from what he tells himself is the cold air, not nerves.

What would he have to be nervous about?

“D’you need a hand?”

Phil shakes his head, keeping his gaze trained on his key in the dark.

“I got it.”

And he does. The lock clicks and he stems his shoulder against the door immediately, pushing it open.

Only when he’s standing in the doorway does he become aware Dan’s hovering awkwardly just outside, hands pushed into his jeans pockets.

Something like cold fingers seems to wrap around Phil’s heart when he realises this is goodbye.

Unless he does something about it right now.

“Aren’t you going to walk me home all the way?” He hears himself ask in a voice that’s about an octave above smooth and casual.

A glint appears in Dan’s eyes like a match the moment you strike it, flaring up and then growing smaller, certain to go out eventually unless you use it to set something else on fire.

God, if he had a candle to catch it...

“Can’t have you get lost in the hallway, can I?” Dan responds a little gravelly.

Phil takes another step inside and holds the door wide open.

He’s rarely been this grateful for the perpetually broken lift.

Their steps on the stairs are slow and almost in sync. Phil knows their number by heart. How many times he’s cursed living on the fifth floor, now he’s grateful for the little bit of extra time.

Except... he doesn’t know what to do with it. Neither one of them is talking. He would’ve expected Dan to complain about the exercise, or else mock Phil for his laboured breaths, but he’s quiet.

The silence feels heavy with unspoken words.

And far too soon, they find themselves in front of the door with his nameplate beside it.

They both seem to halt at the same time.

“So...” Dan says after what might have been several minutes.

Phil breathes slowly and turns towards him. The light on his floor is broken; he can barely make out the shape of Dan’s face, illuminated only by the light that falls through the stairway from above.

“Guess this is it then.”

Phil nods. His throat feels too tight to speak; his eyes are busy raking over Dan’s face, trying to commit it to memory.

Cursing the darkness that wants to rob him of this.

There are so many things he should say.

Like, “Thank you for taking me out to dinner.” And “It was good to see you.” Or “let’s do this again sometime.”

But the words all get jumbled up inside him, fighting with the impulse to just say, “Stay.”

He could ask Dan inside. It would be so easy. Just turn the key and pull him along into his flat –

He blinks, eyes burning.

When he opens them again, the light from above is blocked out by Dan’s head. His hand finds Phil’s shoulder.

“Goodbye, Phil,” he says, his voice soft and slightly higher-pitched than usual.

Phil can feel Dan’s breath on his cheeks when he leans in.

He closes his eyes.

A minuscule turn of his head, like muscles jerking on their own accord.

Dan’s kiss brushes the corner of his mouth, lingering for a second. Heat floods Phil’s stomach at the same time as orange light floods his eyelids –

They flinch apart and he squints up. The light above them has suddenly come on, drenching them both in a yellow glow.

Close in front of him, Dan lets out a surprised, breathy laugh.

Phil frowns. He could’ve sworn the bulb was broken.

Dan clears his throat, “I was aiming for your cheek. Could’ve used that light earlier, I guess.”

Phil becomes aware that his heart is knocking against his ribcage, and that his hands are holding onto the ends of Dan’s – _his_ – scarf without a memory of having reached out, and that had he turned a little bit farther, the kiss would’ve landed square on his mouth.

He lets out a trembling breath and swallows.

“Guess so.”

He forces himself to let go; Dan’s hands come up to take the scarf off and hand it to Phil.

“Thanks for lending me your scarf.”

“Thanks for dinner,” Phil responds.

Dan smiles, still with a glimmer in his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“You’ll text me when you’re on the train?” Phil asks.

By now he’s just stalling, delaying the moment when Dan’s going to turn around and walk down those stairs and out of the building.

Out of Phil’s life again.

Dan nods.

They stand facing each other for a long moment.

Then Dan lets out a breath like a sigh. “I’d better go; I’ve got to check out early tomorrow morning.”

Phil nods. “Yeah. Right. Well – get back safely. And text me.”

He flinches internally at his own repetition.

“I will.” Dan gives him another brilliant smile. “I promised I wouldn’t be a stranger, didn’t I?”

Phil smiles back weakly, hands knotted into the scarf he’s holding.

And then Dan gives him a small nod and turns around, and a minute later he’s disappeared from view, around the corner of the staircase, his steps echoing for a moment until the door falls shut five flights down and the last sign of him is gone.

Only the scarf remains, and Phil presses his face into it to find out if Dan’s scent lingers in the fabric.

It doesn’t.

He tears it away from his face, fingers clenching around it as he forces himself to turn his back on the stairwell and enter his flat.

Inside, he leans against the door, deflating.

His eyes feel hot and wet and then they’re spilling over, his heart clenching violently in his chest. Back pressed to the wood he sinks to the floor, gasping for air, as sobs wrench their way out of him.

Because that’s the thing about fire, Phil’s memory reminds him.

Much like humans, it lives on oxygen. And unless you quench the flames, you’ll find yourself with no air left to breathe.


	4. Leave me blurry and fall toward me with your entire body.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan's train is cancelled.  
> Phil invites him over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan is bold text.  
> Phil's mum is underlined text.

Phil wakes at half six to the blaring of his alarm. Frowning against the light falling in through his curtains, he turns onto his stomach to burrow his face into the pillow and reaches out blindly to stifle the noise.

Tranquility envelopes him. Two birds singing outside his window, a single car going by.

He knows, instantly then, that it’s Saturday, and he must have just neglected to turn his alarm off.

Saturdays are usually his favourite – he does a bit of work, the necessary chores that have piled up during the week, then treats himself to takeaway and Netflix or video games for the remainder of the day.

But today he feels weary somehow, his head heavier than usual.

Different from a migraine, more like... a mild hangover.

And there was wine, wasn’t there, at some point in the previous night?

The previous night. Just like that, memories come flowing back.

Dan’s face illuminated by candlelight, street lights, the light in the stairwell. His hand on Phil’s shoulder, his lips on Phil’s cheek, his nod before he’d turned around and left –

Possibly it's more of an emotional hangover than one caused by drinking.

Phil groans, pulling the duvet over his head. The memory of his breakdown after their goodbye is too shameful. He’d sat on the floor crying for a good ten minutes, clutching the damn scarf that didn’t smell like Dan, in a flat where nothing reminded him of Dan, in a city Dan was preparing to leave.

Again.

Realising all he wanted was for him to stay, but he was too afraid to ask.

Because what if Dan really just wanted to catch up, have a chat like old friends? And yet he’d paid for dinner, walked him home, and kissed him goodbye on the cheek...

Phil’s not very experienced in dating, but last night had felt like a date. Still, he has no bloody clue if it meant the same to Dan.

He should have asked. Why hadn’t he asked?

He silently chides himself a fool.

Then he throws the covers back and swings his legs out of bed.

It’s time to go and be an adult.

 

* * *

 

He decides that keeping busy is going to help. It always has. He’s learnt to exist without Dan and barely thought about him for most of the past four years at least – surely it can’t be that hard to go back to the way things were four days ago, before Dan turned up in his life again, meddling with all his emotions.

So he turns on the radio as he gets into the shower, intending to scrub the memory off his skin and sing along to meaningless pop songs. But just as he’s rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, the radio show host says something about taking calls from listeners now, and Phil almost slips on the wet tiles in his hurry to get out of the shower cabin and change the station.

Breakfast is no help either, because when he switches on the kettle, he clearly recalls texting Dan two days ago in the very same spot. He even makes a point out of eating toast instead of cereal – ridiculous though it may be that Dan should have an influence on his dietary habits.

But his mind still circles – around Dan’s dimple and his beautiful large hands, his soft-looking curls and the way his eyes light up when he’s excited, the warm timbre of his laugh and the feeling of Dan’s breath caressing Phil’s face – when he’s throwing a load of laundry into the machine and vacuuming his bedroom, which is in itself a sign of his desperation, really, because he hates vacuuming.

His hands are occupied but his mind’s roaming free, and that must be the problem.

Nothing he can’t change though, and so at approximately eight thirty he sits down at his desk with a fresh mug of coffee and digs the essays out from a stack of paperwork. The correction provides a momentary distraction and by the time he’s done and logging into the school website to publish the marks, he’s almost forgotten about the elephant in the room.

Even as he checks on the homework he’d set on Friday afternoon and finds that a surprising number of students have already submitted an answer to the question “What did you learn in the Young Minds Workshop? Describe an instance where you have encountered the issue of mental health in your life and how, if at all, you would behave differently in that situation now,” he’s not thinking about Dan. Instead, scrolling through the entries, he can’t help but smile at the evidence that his decision to sign them up for the workshop has had positive effects.

But then his phone vibrates in the pocket of his joggers – he doesn’t bother with jeans or formal trousers on the weekend – and he pulls it out, startled.

He doesn’t normally get a lot of messages on weekends. It’s not like he doesn’t have any friends – PJ texts sometimes, and he’s still in contact with some of his old childhood friends. But when he sees the time displayed on the screen, he knows who the message is from before he even opens it.

Dan’s sent him a photo of a train destination board captioned, **“euston we have a problem.”**

Phil takes a closer look at the photo, reading what is displayed on the board. “10:35 AM - Manchester Piccadilly to London Euston cancelled due to track damage. We apologise for any inconvenience.”

“oh no! what are you going to do now?”

Dan doesn’t respond immediately so Phil moves to the kitchen to wash his mug. His phone vibrates again a few minutes later.

**“welp i just went to talk to service and turns out i have two choices”**

**“either wait until the track is cleared which can take anywhere from between a few hours to days, or pay more for a different journey which takes like a million hours”**

“jesus”

“im really sorry that sucks”

**“yeah... tbh i really don’t want to take the route with four changes tho so i might just wait at starbucks and hope the track is cleared soon yay”**

Phil gnaws on his lower lip for a moment before he breathes out and types, “if only you had a friend living close by whose address you already know.”

A minute passes before Dan texts back, and it feels just as charged as a pause in a verbal conversation.

**“are u inviting me to your lair philip”**

He smiles, feeling almost jittery.

“it may be small but it beats sitting in a coffeeshop for hours on end. or has starbucks been newly equipped with a tv and a switch?”

Dan replies quickly this time.

**“points have been made”**

Phil hurries to add, “i can make you coffee too. plus i have a sofa without mysterious stains”

**“well no offense but if you’re still an instant coffee pleb that definitely doesn’t compare to the starbucks menu"**

”just get over here, daniel”

**“do you have the new mario kart”**

“is that what it’ll take to convince you? of course i have it”

**“i was just teasing im already omw lol”**

 

* * *

 

Phil opens the door to a rosy-cheeked Dan with a few raindrops in his curls and sprinkled across the shoulders of his biker jacket.

 “God, I forgot you didn’t bring any weather appropriate clothes. Come in, warm up!”

Dan obeys, shrugging off his jacket to reveal another semi-formal dress shirt - a black one this time. Phil’s overtly aware of his own pokemon-themed jogging trousers and fluorescent green hoodie.

“D’you want a cup of tea? Some hot cocoa?”

“I’ll take you up on that coffee, I think.”

Dan trails behind him to the kitchen. “To be fair, I did bring warm clothes. They’re all in my suitcase, in need of a wash.”

“If you want, you can do a load of laundry when mine is done,” Phil offers, grabbing the instant powder from the shelf and switching the kettle on.

Dan leans against the counter next to him. “Oh, thanks. If there's time I might.”

Phil gives him an awkward little smile before he turns to get a mug from the cupboard. He’s got a sudden sense of dejavú – Dan, in his first week of University, turning up at Phil’s flat with a suitcase full of clothes. Before he explained that the laundromat had scared him and that he wanted to use Phil’s washing machine, Phil’s first instinct had been to ask, _Are you moving in?_

“Nice place you got here,” Dan comments, drawing him back to the present.

It’s a moderately sized flat, single bedroom doubling as his home office with an en-suite bathroom and a comfortable lounge. But all Dan’s seen so far is the hallway with Phil’s houseplant collection in various states of vitality and his fairly average kitchen.

“It’s alright,” he shrugs. “Can’t keep a dog here, though.”

“Big minus, certainly,” Dan admits. Then he spots the mug Phil is spooning instant coffee into.

“Wow, you still have that?”

Phil hasn’t noticed he’s chosen the One Direction mug. It has to be nearly seven years old at this point – he remembers gifting it to Dan half-ironically shortly before their break-up – and apart from a little chip on the rim it’s survived this far.

There’s something symbolic about this, surely.

As he reaches for the kettle and pours hot water into it, he feels Dan’s gaze on him like a laser beam. It follows when he moves to the fridge for the carton of almond milk, adding a generous splash and stirring it in gently – muscle memory of morning coffees he used to prepare.

He hands it to Dan.

“Thanks.” Dan’s big hands wrap almost entirely around it. “What would you be doing today if I hadn’t intruded?

Phil pours himself a glass of Ribena. “Play video games, probably.”

Dan rolls his eyes lightly. “No, really. You can tell me. Like, if you need to work, it’s cool. I can go sit quietly in a corner, you don’t have to entertain –“

“As it turns out, I just got done when you texted.”

Of course, there’s always more he could do, tasks to prepare and paperwork to fill in and the rest of the flat to tidy and clean.

But that stuff can wait. Because Dan’s only here for a short while and Phil has decided to treasure it.

“Are you sure?”

Phil waits for Dan to make eye contact. “I’m sure. And you’re not intruding. I invited you, remember?”

Dan exhales, a smile playing on the corner of his mouth and the creases around his eyes. “Okay. Good. Because I didn’t want to, like, interrupt.”

It sounds like he really means more than just today – the disruption he’s caused in Phil’s perfectly ordinary life.

“Don’t worry about it,” Phil says softly.

What he means is, _I’m glad you did_.

They each take a sip of their beverages, and then a growling sound disturbs the silence.

Dan’s cheeks grow red. “Sorry.” He pats his stomach as if to pacify it.

Phil chuckles. “You hungry? Should be nearly time for lunch.”

“Uhh... kinda. I may have skipped breakfast.”

“Dan! You should never do that. It’s the –“

“Most important meal of the day, I know. I checked out in a bit of a hurry.”

He’s smiling again.

“Well, come on then. I’ll feed you.”

He rummages through the cupboard. Dan hops up onto the counter, watching him in amusement.

“You sure we shouldn’t just order?”

Phil admittedly doesn’t cook a lot. It’s just not very much fun to prepare a whole meal for a single person. But there are a few dishes he’s decent at making, and after Dan’s taken him out for dinner last night he kind of feels the need to... return the favour? Impress him? He’s not even sure...

But he’s got all the ingredients for Spaghetti Alfredo, so he’ll figure it out.

“Here,” he glances at Dan and throws him a garlic bulb. “Can you crush this?”

Dan catches it easily, watching Phil closely as he retrieves butter and coconut cream, parmesan cheese and parsley. “Trying to repel vampires?”

Phil sets his ingredients down on the counter next to Dan and hunkers down to get a big pot for the pasta. “We can’t all be Buffy.”

Dan snorts. “Fair enough.”

“I’ll get you a knife if you could get me the spaghetti from that cupboard?”

Dan slides off the counter and goes to stand on his toes to reach up.

As he does so, his shirt rucks up slightly to reveal a narrow strip of tan skin and the waistband of grey Calvin Kleins.

Phil has a hard time tearing his eyes away when Dan turns around, spaghetti in hand, and raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you’re out of knives or those vampires are going to have an easy job of us.”

Phil feels the blood rush from down below into his cheeks. He keeps his head bowed for longer than strictly necessary as he retrieves the knife.

Dan crushes the garlic and chops parsley while Phil drops the noodles into the boiling water and melts some butter in a smaller pot.

“This is nice,” Dan hums. “I rarely ever cook by myself. Had a phase where I tried last year because I was going vegan and that like, cut out most of my usual takeout options. But then I found this great vegan delivery service and stopped again.” He laughs. “I probably spend more time preparing Kiwi’s food than my own.”

Phil stops himself mid-motion from tearing open the pack of grated parmesan. “Wait, so you don’t eat cheese?”

Dan looks up. “Well, not usually. But I’m only like semi-vegan at best. I’m not very strict and this week’s a cheat week anyway ‘cause I’m not home and all.”

He shrugs, then spots what Phil is holding and raises an eyebrow. “But are you sure _you_ want that in there? What happened to hating cheese?”

“I still hate cheese. Just not every kind. And it doesn’t taste gross-cheesy in the sauce,” he elucidates.

Dan chuckles. “Uh huh. If you say so. – Drop it in there, then, if you want. I don’t mind. I’ll just live of kale for all of next week.”

“I suppose I could try going vegan,” Phil muses. “I don’t eat a lot of dairy anyway since I found out I’m lactose intolerant a while ago.”

Dan adds the crushed garlic to the butter and Phil stirs in the cheese and coconut cream.

“That explains those tummy aches you’d always have after breakfast. – If you do want to try, let me know. I can give you some of the recipes I learned when I was starting out.”

Phil smiles. “Thanks. Maybe I will.”

 

* * *

 

They sit opposite each other at the small table in Phil’s kitchen, eating in the type of comfortable silence brought on by being hungry, until Dan makes an appreciative noise low in his throat and Phil glances up at him.

“God, this is good.”

He smiles. “Yeah?”

Dan nods, waving his fork around for emphasis. “I will be leaving a positive review, Chef Lester.”

Phil hides his blush behind his glass of Ribena. “Well, thank you very much, Sir. I’ll pass the compliments on to my kitchen boy.”

Dan exaggerates a gasp. “Kitchen boy? Excuse me, I thought we were equal partners in this establishment!”

Phil giggles, his tongue slipping out of the corner of his mouth before he can help it.

Dan’s faux-indignant expression melts into a fond, amused one.

They finish the rest of the spaghetti easily together and Phil’s just telling Dan that he doesn’t have to help wash the dishes, really, he’s the guest – when Dan’s phone chimes in his pocket.

“It’s the railway service app; I activated notifications for the line,” he explains, swiping across the screen.

Phil, one hand holding a sudsy plate, watches his face fall.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, fearing that Dan’s going to have to leave before – well, he doesn’t know before what exactly, just that he doesn’t want to let Dan go so soon again.

“The next connection is tomorrow,” Dan sighs, pocketing his phone. Worry lines have formed between his eyebrows. “Great, now I’ll have to find another hotel for tonight.”

“Why don’t you just stay here?” Phil hears his own voice ask before he can stop himself. 

Dan looks up at him, an array of emotions flickering across his face.

Surprise, confusion, curiosity, and then finally something soft and tentative his face settles on... hope, maybe?

Phil can feel his heartbeat in his soapy fingertips.

“Are you – sure?” Dan asks.

Phil swallows past his dry mouth and nods.

Dan’s still looking at him, now with a more guarded expression Phil can’t decipher anymore. He inhales and adds, backtracking slightly, “I have a sofa.”

Dan licks his lips. “I, umm. Okay then. Uhh. Thanks.”

Phil blinks. “It’s no problem, really. I’ll be sleeping on the sofa, of course. You’re welcome to take my bed.”

Dan protests immediately and moves to take the wet plate from Phil, starting to dry it off with a dish towel. “Oh, no, no way. I’m not banishing you to your own sofa, Phil. If anyone sleeps on that it’ll be me.”

Phil’s about to argue back when Dan phone chimes again, only this time it doesn’t stop after one sound.

“Ah, crap.” Dan sets the plate down and steps aside to pull out his phone. “It’s Louise. Probably wondering if I’m on my way yet – I’ll take this quickly, okay? Got to tell her she needs to keep Kiwi for another night.”

“Yeah, of course.”

He walks past Phil out of the kitchen. Phil finishes cleaning the dishes and leaves them to dry on the rack, listening for Dan’s voice that’s coming from the hallway.

There’s a sputtered, amused “Really?” and then Dan’s quiet except for a few stray chuckles as he lets the person on the other end – Louise – speak.

Phil feels awkward loitering in his own kitchen, so he wipes his hands on the dish towel and steps out into the hallway.

Dan’s looking unseeingly at one of Phil’s less well cared for potted plants, the corners of his mouth twitching every now and again, his mouth half opening as though he wants to get a reply in but there’s no pause in Louise’s chatter.

His eyes fall on Phil and he smiles broadly, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

Phil sucks his lips in, thinking for a moment, before he points to the end of the corridor and mimes the swirl of a washing machine.

Dan stares at him with a very puzzled expression that clears up when Phil tugs at the hem of his shirt.

He nods and steps aside to let him pass.

Phil hears him say, “Okay, but you have to give her back, Louise. No matter how much you’re convinced she secretly loves you more than me. – No, we cannot have shared custody!”

Their playful, comfortable banter almost makes Phil jealous. They must be great friends, and Louise has probably spent more time with Dan in the past six years than Phil ever has.

But something tells him Dan is decidedly not interested in Louise beyond that, and he’s had some little signs that maybe Dan is interested in Phil in that way.

The way that makes the pit of his belly burn pleasantly, that tugs at something in his chest and makes him flush crimson red. The way he’s hardly ever felt for anyone else.

He’s not entirely sure of it yet, but he intends to find out.

The mere idea of it, the possibility makes his hands shake as he moves his wet laundry to the dryer, and he quietly curses his decision to put garlic into the sauce.

Well, at least they’ve both had it, so it probably won’t be as noticeable.

But what if because of that Dan now thinks that Phil doesn’t want –

“You alright there?”

Phil bangs his knee against the open door of the washing machine as he stands hurriedly.

“Shit.” He hobbles on the spot, clutching his limb, as Dan laughs at him – a full-on cackle with his head thrown back, hands coming up to cover his mouth.

“Phil! Jesus. No, really, are you okay?” He asks through bouts of giggles, his eyes shimmering.

“I’m fine,” Phil says, not fully able to suppress a pout as he rubs his knee and then straightens up. “I just, uhh. Emptied out the washing machine for you if you want to use it, seeing as you’re staying. Everything okay at home?”

Dan’s still looming in the doorway, arms crossed now and his head tilted to the side.

His eyes won’t leave Phil’s face.

There’s a burst of that strange, flickery feeling in Phil’s belly again, like the first flare of a candle when you light it.

“Yeah,” Dan says finally, and maybe Phil only imagines that his voice is deeper than before. He clears his throat. “Kiwi seems to be doing fine without me. Louise was trying to convince me to let her keep her indefinitely, actually.”

Phil bites back a smile. “I heard. I hope you fought for her.”

“Naturally. Like a mother lion. – I’ll get my laundry then?”

Phil nods. “Detergent’s right here. D’you still want to play Mario Kart?”

Dan’s eyes light up. “Are you kidding me? Of course. That’s only like the entire reason I came over,” he teases, and Phil feels his cheeks grow hot yet again.

He’s very aware of his sweaty palms and the knock-knock of his heart against his breastbone. So perfect conditions to win a video game.

 

* * *

 

His phone chimes just as he’s set up the game.

“your father wants me to make lamb chops tomorrow. would you like mashed or fried potatoes with that?”

Phil plops down on the sofa.

“Make whichever you like, I may not make it to lunch tomorrow anyway,” he texts back.

He’s been having lunch with his parents every Sunday without fail for the last three years that he’s lived here, only missing it twice – once when he was sick, and once when his class went on a weekend trip to Blackpool.

But he has no idea when exactly Dan’s train is leaving tomorrow and he’s definitely not going to rush him.

“Oh, child. What’s going on? Are you ill?”

“don’t worry mum i’m fine! it’s just something has come up. i’m not alone so i can’t talk rn”

“Philip! You have a date?! How wonderful!”

Phil bites down on his lower lip, contemplating what to tell her.

As he does, another text arrives.

“Though if it gets serious, you must bring them around for lunch sometime.”

He swallows, opting for the truth.

“actually, you already know him.”

“it’s dan”

“and it’s not technically a date.”

_I wish I knew what it was._

_I wish it was._

“Dan Howell? Is that right? He’s in town?”

“yes that dan. And he can’t make it home until tomorrow so i told him he could stay the night”

“hear hear ;)”

“MUM.”

“Child you know I’m just teasing. But are you alright with this situation?”

Phil feels his mouth stretch into a smile on its own accord. “yeah i am. we’ve been having a nice time together. it sort of just feels right?”

He lets out a breath and admits, “I think i’ve missed him.”

His mother doesn’t take long to reply, “:) I am happy to hear that! Your absence at lunch will be excused if you call in the evening!”

He's a little surprised, though, to say the least. “promise I will, mum. tbh i thought you'd warn me not to get involved with him again"

"Well, dear, I haven't forgotten what happened. But the reason you were hurting so much when he left is how happy he had made you."

"I've always wondered whether I'd see you smile like that again, Phil. And I trust that you're both a little wiser now."

Phil's stunned for a moment. Then he replies, "thank you, mum."

"Always, child. Now go be happy and take care <3"

There’s the sound of knuckles on wood and he looks up to find Dan standing in the doorway. “Knock knock,” he says with a half-smile.

Phil’s heart seems to take that as a command.

He clears his throat. “Who’s there?”

“Your mum.”

Phil snorts. “Nice try, but I was just talking to her,” he waves his phone around.

“Mama’s boy,” Dan teases, but there’s no bite in his words.

He sits down on the other end of the sofa, leaving plenty of space between them, and leans back into the cushions.

“Bring it on, then, Lester.”

Phil tries to hide his disappointment behind a face of defiance as he hands Dan a controller.

“Gladly. You’re not beating me on my own turf, Howell. Prepare to be defeated!”

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Dan does in fact beat him.

Five times in a row. The first win Phil gets in he owes to a banana that's conveniently dropped right in front of Dan.

“Fuck! No! Fuck you, Waluigi!”

Phil bites back a giggle as Dan’s character skids. He punches down on the controller, and Koopa Troopa zooms past Tanooki Mario in the last moment and passes across the finish line in first place.

Dan lets out a noise of disbelief and twists around to look at Phil.

“How did you _do_ that? I swear you were in fifth place just a second ago.”

Phil shrugs with a smug smile. “Guess you need to pay better attention, Howell.”

Dan stares at him for a moment, his eyes flitting around.

His shirt sleeves have been pushed up his forearms and that little spot on his jaw is reddened, his curls sticking up where he’s run his hand through them.

He’s sat with his legs folded underneath him now, and somehow much closer than before, although Phil has no recollection of either of them moving.

Dan raises an eyebrow.

“Are you giving up?”

Phil snorts. “In your dreams.”

Dan grins. “Alright, next race then. But this time I’ll kick your ass.”

“Not if I kick yours first.”

“Talk dirty to me,” Dan hums, and Phil feels his stomach jolt.

“What?”

Dan stops humming abruptly. “What? I didn’t say anything. Go on and start the game.”

Phil complies. But when he glances at Dan out of the corner of his eye, his cheeks have taken on the colour of Mario’s hat.

He wins the next race as well, although not without playing dirty.

“Are you shitting me?”

Phil bites his lip to hold back a grin.

“What the _hell_ , Lester,” Dan throws his switch down onto the sofa, where it bounces off a cushion and drops to the floor.

Neither of them move to pick it up.

“I thought we had a pact. Us versus them. Dan and Phil against the system. How dare you jeopardise me with a blue shell? I’m hurt. Devastated.”

Phil shrugs nonchalantly to disguise how his heartbeat has quickened due to Dan’s choice of words. “The pact was broken when you pushed me off track on Rainbow Road. Keep up, Howell.”

Dan narrows his eyes. “Oh, that’s cold. You surprise me, Lester.”

“There’s a lot of things about me that'd surprise you,” Phil says, sounding more like clickbait than as mysterious as intended, but Dan cocks his head to the side.

“Oh, really? Like what?”

Phil blinks. One minute they were joking around, and now suddenly it feels a lot like flirting.

And he can’t think of a damn thing to say, not with Dan staring at him like that.

Dan grins. “You’re shit at comebacks? That’s no surprise, Phil, I could’ve guessed tha—aRGH, PHIL, GET OFF!”

“Or what?” Phil growls.

In lack of a witty response, he’s opted for lunging at Dan and digging his fingers into his sides. And he’s not disappointed. No matter how much they’ve both grown and changed, Dan is still just as ticklish as he’s always been.

Dan squirms, swatting at his hands, but between Phil and the sofa cushions there’s not much room to wriggle. His high-pitched giggles ring through the room, drowning out the theme music in the background.

“What’s wrong, have you run out of banter now?” Phil teases, hands scrabbling across Dan’s belly.

He’s distracted momentarily by how much firmer and less squishy it feels.

That small moment of hesitation is all it takes for Dan to turn the tables and flip Phil onto his back, trapping him beneath his body.

He makes a triumphant noise. “Your mum’s run out of banter.”

There’s a small part of Phil’s brain that wants him to chide him for reusing the  _your mum_ joke.

The much bigger rest of his brain, however, is preoccupied with the warm weight on top of him. The spicy-sweet, masculine scent filling his nostrils. The stray curls that are sticking to Dan’s forehead with perspiration, and the way his breath feels when it caresses Phil’s skin.

Just like it had the night before when they were stood in the hallway, ready to part ways.

His heart clenches with the fresh memory of Dan leaving.

He swallows, eyes darting up from the rumpled collar of Dan’s shirt to his eyes, and his heart seems to skip a beat when he finds them half-lidded.

He feels like they’ve been tiptoeing on a ledge for the past few days, and while Dan was daring enough to lean and peek into the deep, Phil’s been holding back. Cautious, undecided, scared to reach out for what he wants.

Because it’s been so long since he’s wanted anything like this. Wanted _anyone_ like this.

Not even with PJ had he felt this kind of tension, like an electric current that just keeps winding him up until he finds that he’s breathless and aching for resolve. Not even during that one night when they’d done shots with Chris and in his absence PJ had said, _Go on, kiss me, then, get it out of your system_ , and he’d tasted like vodka and hadn’t kissed back. It had been a bitter kind of resolve and Phil had left for the north the next morning.

He’d thought he’d been in love then, but the intensity of his longing for Dan after just a couple of days makes him reassess. Maybe it’d just been a crush. Or maybe it’s different now because he can actually feel Dan flirting back, catches him looking at Phil like he’s seeing something no one else can see, with a half-smile he doesn’t seem to be aware of ghosting around his lips.

Maybe it’s just because he’s Dan, the first person Phil ever fell head over heels for, and his heart has just never recovered from that.

Be it their deep connection or some kind of mystical soul mate force, Phil doesn’t know and he doesn’t truly care because in the end the fact remains that no one’s ever made him feel this way except for Dan, and that’s equal parts wonderful and terrifying.

Because he already knows what it’s like to lose him.

Except... they’re different now. And Dan’s _here_ , and he’s not going anywhere for the moment, so maybe Phil just needs to be bold for once and take a leap of faith.

 

* * *

 

He remembers one year at Guy Fawkes Night, he must have been about six or seven years old, when his parents had taken him and Martyn to a public bonfire.

A man had lit the fire and Phil had watched with his head tipped back as the flames climbed the logs and then beyond them shot up high, high into the night, as though they were reaching to light up the stars.

His father had to hold him back by the collar of his coat as he tried to get closer, light-headed with fascination.

There's no one here to hold him back now. Maybe he should be careful, but he's not afraid.

He wants to catch fire and make a home for it inside his chest.

“Phil,” Dan breathes into the gap between them, soft and low like a secret.

And Phil reaches out, tugs him down by his neck, and kisses him.


	5. We are all going forward. None of us are going back.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing leads to more.
> 
> Also, there's pillow talk.
> 
> And a little epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild sexual content/pre-smut in the second segment.

“I was beginning to think you would never do that.”

Dan mumbles the words against Phil’s lips, pulling away to lean their foreheads together. “Like, that all this time I just imagined you flirting back and you didn’t actually...”

Phil runs his hands up from the back of Dan's neck to his jaw, admiring the way Dan’s face looks framed between them.

A little giggle escapes with his breath, relief mixing into the rush of adrenaline.

“I spent half of last night lying awake, agonising over whether you meant for it to be a date or not,” he confesses. “And when you kissed my cheek... I kept thinking if I’d turned my head a little more, we would’ve –“

Dan smiles, his eyes lighting up with it. “Yeah, I kind of thought about doing that, but – to be honest, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving like that.”

Phil runs his thumb gently along Dan’s slightly chapped bottom lip.

“Well, I think if you’d properly kissed me then I wouldn’t have let you leave,” he says softly.

Dan leans his head into palm of Phil’s hand. “You know, I’m really glad it wasn’t goodbye,” he remarks.

“Me too.”

They take a moment to breathe. Phil becomes aware that the Mario Kart theme is still playing, and of how hot he feels in his hoodie, and of the fact that something hard and plasticy shaped like a Nintendo switch is digging into his lower back through his t-shirt where the hoodie has ridden up.

He pays half a thought to removing it but then he’d have to move first, and he’s kind of very content to be lying here with Dan on top of him.

Oh, Christ. Dan’s lying on top of him and they’ve just kissed, _and_ confessed they’ve both wanted this for a while –

Dan clears his throat.

“Phil?”

Phil blinks numbly up at him, unable to bite back a dopey smile.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me again.”

 

* * *

 

He falls back into the pillows, and then he's got his fingers tangled in curls and Dan looms over him on all fours, leaning down to reconnect their lips.

Phil's head is swimming with the feeling of the slow slide of their mouths, the fluttering in his tummy, the little noises Dan makes when Phil tugs lightly on his hair, the smacking sound of their lips each time they part ever so briefly...

They’ve moved from the sofa to his bed – “for comfort” – and it's overwhelming in the best way.

But Phil's heart is pounding and he can barely get enough oxygen into his lungs, so he turns his face for a second to catch his breath.

Dan's lips drag across his cheekbone and he pulls back, eyes seeking Phil's.

"You okay?" He sounds a little hoarse.

Phil nods, sliding his hand down the back of Dan's head to hold him by the neck and keep him close.

"Fine," he says, half gasping. "Just – needed a breather. My heart is beating so fast."

Dan smiles, then touches a hand gently to Phil's chest. His eyes widen.

"Wow, Phil. Maybe you do need to start exercising."

"You can be my trainer," Phil murmurs without thinking, and Dan's face grows very red.

Then it disappears from Phil's view because Dan has leaned down to lay one cheek against his heart.

The warmth of his touch doesn't exactly serve to calm him down at first, but Dan stays there until Phil's heart is approaching its regular rate again.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"You know if this is too much for you, old man, we can stop," Dan suggests with a twinkle in his eye as he comes back up.

Phil takes his face into both hands.

"Shut up."

And to make sure of that, he pulls him back in for a kiss.

They continue making out lazily for a few minutes, but soon their kisses grow more frantic and Dan lowers himself onto his elbows, framing Phil's head between them, bringing the two of them chest to chest.

Phil's been holding him by the waist, bunching up the fabric of his shirt. He’s already ditched the hoodie himself. Now he slides his hands downwards, cupping Dan's bum through his skinny jeans.

Dan moans into his mouth, the sound vibrating against his lips, so Phil squeezes his cheeks gently, and Dan gasps, pulling away to hide his face in Phil's neck.

"Phil," he murmurs against his skin.

Phil hums, pressing his fingertips into the flesh through the denim.

Dan's breath stutters hot against the spot below his ear.

"God," he moans.

"You like that?" Phil whispers.

"You know I do," Dan breathes, and then he shifts slightly and –

"Ohh," Phil exhales.

He could feel the suggestion of Dan's erection against his hip bone before, but that's nothing against this – he spreads his legs wider, grabbing Dan's bum to grind their hips together.

Dan whimpers into his ear.

" _Phil_."

"Yes."

"More," Dan growls, and then he takes Phil's earlobe between his teeth and gives it a tender tug.

Phil's pretty sure he's never been more turned on in all his life.

"Can I –" he starts, scratching his nails lightly across the denim of Dan’s jeans.

" – yes. Anything."

"Can I take these off?"

"Please – wait, let me –"

Dan pushes himself up into a seat, and they both hold their breath as he straddles Phil’s lap.

Before he gets as far as unzipping his jeans, Phil reaches out, tugging on the tail of Dan's shirt.

"This first. Off," he requests, and Dan maintains eye contact as he starts to unbutton it, revealing smooth, lightly tanned skin and subtly sculpted abdominals.

No wonder his belly felt firm at the touch earlier.

The shirt drops behind him on the bed with a gentle rustling sound as he slips his hands out of the cuffs.

His pupils are blown wide with arousal, lips swollen and red, and now he's topless.

And absolutely gorgeous.

Phil swallows, eyes following the trail of sweat down Dan's chest to where it vanishes below the waist of his jeans.

"Phil?"

He blinks. Dan is watching him with a mixture of desire, amusement, and a little coyness, it seems.

"Like what you see?" he asks in a low voice.

"You know I do," Phil repeats his answer from before. "Can I – Dan, I want –"

"Yeah. You can touch me."

Phil props himself up on one elbow, reaching to splay his fingers against the centre of Dan's chest.

They both sit quietly for a moment, watching the rise of fall, before Phil runs his hand to the side and thumbs at Dan's nipple.

He’s still just as sensitive there, Phil notes, as a soft moan falls from Dan’s lips. His eyelids are slipping shut, and he's grabbing at Phil's sides, fingernails digging into his skin quite painfully, but it only furthers Phil's arousal.

He pushes himself up further and pinches Dan's nipple between two fingertips before leaning in to press a kiss to the base of his neck.

Dan lets out a quiet whimper, and then his hand is on the back of Phil's head, encouraging him.

Phil abandons his play with Dan’s chest in favour of devoting more attention to his neck, placing wet open-mouthed kisses up as far as he can reach from this position. He’s not even leaving marks yet, but Dan’s fingers are knotted into his hair, and he inclines his head to give him more room.

As Phil drags his teeth carefully across the sensitive skin before soothing the roughness with a swirl of his tongue, Dan moans a little louder, and his hands slip to Phil’s shoulders.

"Shit – Phil, you – please, we need to –"

Phil pulls away with a wet noise. "You want to stop?"

"No, I just – don’t want to come untouched in my jeans like a bloody teenager."

Phil can't help but feel a little smug. He did that.

Dan is 27 and gorgeous and he’s falling apart with Phil’s mouth on his neck.

His grin falls too, however, as soon as Dan grinds his hips down against him, his hard-on aligned with Phil’s through his joggers, and a deep moan tumbles off his tongue.

"Fuck," he groans.

"I got the impression we were about to," Dan says, and before Phil can come up with a witty response Dan's working on the zipper of his jeans.

"You gonna get rid of your shirt as well?" he asks, looking up at Phil with a smirk.

In spite of how much his hands are shaking, Phil's never pulled his t-shirt off so quickly.

 

* * *

 

Dan’s head is resting on his chest. His chin’s digging into a spot just above his solar plexus; his fingers are interlaced in front of it, concealing the lower part of his face.

His hair is a mess of tangled curls. His chocolate eyes are half-lidded, lashes drawing shadows on his cheekbones.

He’s beautiful.

No, scratch that – he’s breathtaking.

And he’s draped naked across Phil’s equally naked body. Their legs are entangled, their bare, sweaty skin is touching in more places than not.

It’s the most exposed and vulnerable Phil’s been to anyone in years, but he doesn’t feel scared.

Nothing about this is scaring him, but maybe that’ll begin to scare him if he starts to over-think why...

Dan blinks, brow furrowing a little bit.

“Hey.”

His voice is soft, high-pitched.

Phil hums in response.

“You’re staring,” Dan notes.

“Hmm hmm,” Phil repeats. “And who could blame me. It’s a good view.”

A gentle flush rises into Dan’s cheeks and he averts his eyes to where his fingers are drawing tiny shapes on Phil’s skin.

“Shut up.”

He’s pulling on his lower lip with his teeth. Phil smiles and reaches to gently tug his lip free with his thumb. Dan, in turn, kisses the tip of his finger.

Something in Phil’s chest makes that fluttery movement he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

Then Dan sighs, and Phil’s heart sinks.

“What?” he asks gingerly.

"Phil... what are we doing?”

“Pillow talking?” Phil suggests. “Also procrastinating on getting up to wash and strip the sheets off this bed?”

The corners of Dan’s mouth twitch. “Not what I meant, but a similarly harsh reality.”

Phil runs his fingertips up the side of Dan’s face and into his hair, twisting a curl around his finger.

“What did you mean?” He inquires, keeping his voice soft and low despite the way his heart is beginning to pound at the idea that Dan might have regrets.

Dan leans his head into the touch. “This has been... so nice, but -"

Phil cuts him off, raising an eyebrow. "Nice? Bit of an understatement if you ask me."

Dan presses his lips together. "Okay, _this_ was pretty phenomenal. But I was more talking about all of it." His dimple fades. "The past few days. And I can’t help but think... what if we’re just trying to revive something that died years ago? You know necromancy never ends well."

Phil takes a moment to mull it over so he can respond honestly.

"I don't think we are,” he says then. “I think... either it's not really dead... or we're birthing something new."

This gets him an eye-roll and a small smile.

"I’m going to pretend you said _building_ there and not _birthing_ , Jesus Christ.” Dan pauses, resuming his finger movements in Phil’s chest hair.

“I hope so,” he adds then, quietly. “Because I’d like that.”

Phil smiles carefully. "Me too."

"But – and don't take this the wrong way, okay – I meant what I said last night. I do think we should start with friendship. That was always the foundation of our relationship, right? Even though I was madly in love with you from the get go."

Phil exhales, telling himself that it’s okay if this was a one-time affair for Dan. Because even if Phil really liked the physical aspect of it, loves the warmth and intimacy of Dan's naked body covering his, having Dan in his life in any capacity is the main goal here.

"Yeah,” he says slowly, trying not to sound too disappointed. “I agree. I mean we’ve just begun to get to know each other again."

"Exactly."

Phil swallows, focusing on a spot behind Dan’s head as he continues. “So – just to make sure we’re on the same page. You’re saying no more sex?”

Dan’s eyes widen and then he lets out a laugh. "Oh my god, Phil. That is not what I said.”

He rolls off of Phil’s body and shuffles up on the bed until he can rest his cheek on the pillow. They’re face to face now, knees touching as Phil turns onto his side as well.

Dan takes his hand and interlaces their fingers before he continues talking.

“I just mean – we shouldn’t jump head first into a serious relationship. We don’t even live in the same city. Let’s take it slow for a while, yeah?”

Phil exhales in relief, raising Dan’s hand to his mouth to kiss the knuckles. “Oh. Yeah. Good.”

“We're adults, you know,” Dan states, smiling up at him a little mischievously. “We can do whatever we want. Like be friends who have phenomenal sex. And make out. And go on dates.”

"Nice,” Phil grins. “I like the way you think, Howell.”

Dan taps his index finger against his temple with an ironic smile. “Almost like you can’t tell I dropped out of law school.”

Phil snorts at that, and then he starts giggling, which makes Dan laugh as well.

It takes them a long time to calm down.

 

* * *

 

When Phil wakes up and registers a clutch around his upper body, his first instinct is panic. Then his brain catches up and informs him that the unfamiliar feeling is a pair of arms wrapped around him.

Third, the memories of the previous day start rushing in and Phil’s eyes spring open wide, his heart jumping into action.

He can’t stop himself from twisting around until he can catch a glimpse of the man spooning him.

Dan’s still asleep, looking unfairly handsome even with his hair plastered across his forehead and his chapped lips slightly parted.

Phil can barely hold back from pressing a kiss to them, but he doesn’t want to wake Dan.

He kind of just wants to lie here in his arms for the rest of time.

But he also really needs a wee, so he goes about removing Dan’s arm from around his waist as carefully as possible.

He almost considers himself safe when he throws the covers back on his side, but then Dan stirs and lets out an unintelligible noise.

Phil turns to see the younger man blinking up at him.

God, he’s adorable.

“Sorry,” Phil whispers, “I’ll be back in a minute, don’t move.”

Dan nods sleepily and Phil smiles to himself, pausing to watch his eyes slip shut again before he rushes to the bathroom.

When he returns, Dan has kicked the duvet down to his knees.

Phil stands there for a moment to admire the view.

Dan in his bed, his features caressed by soft morning light that falls in through the curtains. The broad expanse of his back, dotted with a few freckles. His strong arms that were wrapped around Phil for most of the night, his muscular legs, and the shape of his ass in those boxer briefs...

But his favourite sight to behold is still Dan’s face, so he rounds the bed and crawls back in, pulling the duvet up around them again.

As he scoots closer, Dan cracks one eye open.

Phil smiles. “Good morning.”

Dan raises his arm like an invitation. 

“Hey,” he croaks. “Missed you. Come back.”

Phil is only too willing to comply.

 

* * *

 

 

 

> ** Four months later. **

 

“Have a nice weekend and I’ll see you all bright and early Monday morning for the test!”

The chorus of groans that answers can’t dim Phil’s mood for a second. He’s smiling to himself as he packs his bag, surveying his desk to make sure he’s not forgetting anything in the classroom.

“You look chipper, Sir.”

Phil looks up to find Christopher staring back at him with a bit of a provocative smirk.

“Going to spend your weekend with your boyfriend?”

There’s a mocking tone in his pubescent voice.

Phil presses his lips together to bite back a laugh. “Indeed I am.”

Before Christopher can come up with a reply, a girl’s voice chimes in.

“Don’t listen to him, Sir. He’s upset because Emily dumped him.”

 _Good for her_ , Phil thinks privately, but out loud he says, “That’s alright, Diana. Have a good weekend.”

She gives him a little smile before she heads out.

It’s quite sweet – Diana is among those students who have begun standing up for anyone being bullied on the school grounds, and that extends to defending Phil. Not that it’s necessary, really. He can fend for himself against that bit of light-hearted teasing he has to endure these days.

Still, he’s glad she’s taking these things seriously. Just another positive effect Dan’s workshop has had on his students.

Christopher makes a face at his classmate's back as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and heads for the door.

Phil clears his throat. “A word, please?”

The boy stops in his tracks and looks up slowly before he drags his feet over to Phil’s desk.

“Sir,” he says curtly.

He’s staring at the chipped wooden surface, evidently expecting to be reprimanded – or mocked in turn.

But Phil does neither of those things.

“I’m sorry to hear about your break-up,” he says instead, choosing his words with care.

Christopher’s head snaps up and he stares at Phil, eyebrows furrowed and mouth hanging open for a good three seconds before he mutters, “Uhh. Thank you?”

Phil nods, zips his bag shut and stands. “I expect you’ll make good use of your free time and get excellent marks on the upcoming test.”

The boy exhales and blinks, stepping back from the desk.

At the door, he turns back briefly to meet Phil’s eyes. “Touché. Enjoy your weekend, Mr Lester.”

Phil chuckles. “Oh, I intend to.”

 

* * *

 

Phil passes by the staff room to pick up his coat and the suitcase he took to work. It’s a cold February – the weather reports have announced more snow fall this evening – and Phil wants to make it to the station before chaos starts on the streets.

“Hey, Lester.”

“Hey, Esther.”

Slipping his arms into the coat, Phil turns and gives her a bright smile.

His colleague rolls her eyes. “God, you’re so in love. It’s offensive to us lonely singles. Go away.”

He grins. “I’m already on my way out.”

She chuckles. “You know, I still can’t believe you hooked up with the hot mental health ambassador and I never saw it coming.”

Phil shrugs modestly, grabbing the handle bar of his trolley case. “What can I say, I’m full of surprises.”

Esther shakes her head at him with a smile. “Whatever, you sneaky little shit. Get out of here. Say hi to your boyfriend from me.”

“I’ll even kiss him from you,” Phil singsongs, laughing when her noises of pretend-disgust ring after him. “Have a good weekend!”

 

* * *

 

Phil thumbs through the picturesque snowy landscape photos that he's taken through the window, trying to decide if any of them are instagram worthy, when a text buzzes in.

**“is your train on time?”**

A smile spreads on his face. “yep think so!!”

**“good bc kiwi doesn’t have her booties on, they were still wet from our walk”**

“oh no! is she gonna be ok?”

**“yeah dw i’ll just hold her if the ground is too cold”**

By the time the train pulls into London Euston, the sky is dark and the snow has stopped falling.

“Incoming,” Phil types and then pockets his phone, standing to retrieve his suitcase and coat from the overhead compartment.

He can feel his phone vibrate when he reaches the doors, but he’s too busy heaving his suitcase out onto the platform and trying not to jostle any of the other travellers to check it.

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to; when he looks up and around himself, Dan is already waving at him with one gloved hand. The other is clutching a leash.

And the firm grip proves necessary because as Phil starts heading toward him, Kiwi begins barking wildly and pulling on her leash to run at him.

Phil laughs, letting go of his suitcase to hunker down, and allowing the miniature poodle to lick his chin.

“Hi, sweet pea,” he coos, scratching behind her ears. “I’ve missed you too!”

Dan huffs and Phil looks up at him, still petting Kiwi who’s standing with her front paws on his thigh.

“Someone’s happy to see me,” Phil remarks.

Dan just rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Anytime you’re ready, Lester.”

Phil gives Kiwi one last pat before he stands and grins at Dan.

“Aww, don’t be jealous, babe. I’ve got all weekend to pet you.”

Dan’s cheeks, already rosy from the cold, flush ruby red, and Phil leans in to kiss them.

Before he can pull away, Dan grabs the collar of his coat and tugs him closer for a proper kiss on the lips.

The rush and noise around them seems to disappear for a moment.

Dan’s breath is warm on his face, his voice scratchy-soft like a woollen scarf. “Hi.”

“Hi, you,” Phil breathes against his mouth.

“I brought you a little something.” He unzips the outside pocket of his suitcase and produces a box of heart-shaped chocolates. “Happy late Valentine’s day, Dan.”

Dan accepts the box and smiles down at it, although Phil can tell he’s trying to suppress it.

“You’re such a sap. Thanks.”

Phil grabs his suitcase with his left hand so he can interlace his fingers with Dan’s. Kiwi bounds along next to them as they leave the station.

“I’ve got something for you, too,” Dan mentions casually as they wait for a cab. Kiwi’s on his arm now, halfway tucked into his coat.

Phil glances at him. “Really?”

Dan hums. “It’s at the flat though.” And then he turns to Phil and winks just as a cab stops in front of them.

Phil feels his cheeks grow hot and a smile spread on his face again.

Climbing into the backseat after his boyfriend and his dog, he can’t help but think to himself that no matter what happens tonight, he’s already gotten incredibly lucky.


End file.
